PENCIL  SKETCHES: 


OR, 


OUTLINES  OF  CHARACTER  AND  MANNERS. 


BY  MISS  LESLIE. 


INCLUDING  "MRS.  WASHINGTON  POTTS,"  AND  "MR.  SMITH," 
WITH  OTHER  STORIES. 


"So  runs  the  world  away." — SHAKSPEARE. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
A.  HART,  LATE  CAREY  &  HART, 

126   CHESTNUT  STREET. 

1852. 


Entered,  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1852,  by 

A.   HART, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  in  and  for 
the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


E.  B.  HEARS,  STEREOTYPER. 


T.  K.  *  P.  G.  COLLINS,  PRINTERS. 


h 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

THE  work  from  which  the  following  is  a  selection,  has 
been  long  out  of  print  ;  and  many  inquiries  have  been 
made  concerning  it.  Since  its  first  appearance,  a  new 
generation  of  young  people  has  grown  up;  and  they 
may,  perhaps,  find  amusement  and  improvement  in  pic 
tures  of  domestic  life,  that  were  recognised  as  such  by 
their  mothers. 

The  present  volume  will  probably  be  succeeded  by 
another,  containing  the  remainder  of  the  original  Pencil 

Sketches,  with  additional  stories. 

ELIZA  LESLIE. 

UNITED  STATES  HOTEL, 

Philadelphia,  March  25th,  1852. 


CONTENTS. 


MRS.  WASHINGTON  POTTS         -        -        -        -        -     page  13 

MR.  SMITH 60 

UNCLE  PHILIP 82 

THE  ALBUM     -        -        -        -        *        -        -        -        -  131 

THE  SET  OF  CHINA            -        -        -        -        -        -        -  147 

LAURA  LOVEL      .......            -  157 

JOHN  W.  ROBERTSON;  A  TALE  OF  A  CENT   -        %       -  197 

THE  LADIES'  BALL 217 

THE  RED  BOX ;  OR,  SCENES  AT  THE  GENERAL  WAYNE  240 
THE  OFFICERS ;  A  STORY  OF  THE  LAST  WAR  WITH 

ENGLAND       - 266 

PETER  JONES ;  A  SKETCH  FROM  LIFE  297 

THE  OLD  FARM-HOUSE -814 

THAT  GENTLEMAN ;  OR,  PENCILLINGS  ON  SHIP-BOARD  333 

THE  SERENADES 358 

SOCIABLE  VISITING        .......  376 

COUNTRY  LODGINGS 402 

CONSTANCE  ALLERTON;  OR,  THE  MOURNING  SUITS  415 


(5) 


MRS.  WASHINGTON  POTTS. 


"The  course  of  parties  never  does  run  smooth." — Shalcspcare. 

BROMLEY  CHESTON,  an  officer  in  the  United  States  navy, 
had  just  returned  from  a  three  years'  cruise  in  the  Mediterra 
nean.  His  ship  came  into  New  York ;  and  after  he  had  spent 
a  week  with  a  sister  that  was  married  in  Boston,  he  could  not 
resist  his  inclination  to  pay  a  visit  to  his  maternal  aunt,  who 
had  resided  since  her  widowhood  at  one  of  the  small  towns  on 
the  banks  of  the  Delaware. 

The  husband  of  Mrs.  Marsden  had  not  lived  long  enough 
to  make  his  fortune,  and  it  was  his  last  injunction  that  she 
should  retire  with  her  daughter  to  the  country,  or  at  least  to 
a  country  town.  He  feared  that  if  she  remained  in  Philadel 
phia  she  would  have  too  many  temptations  to  exercise  her 
taste  for  unnecessary  expense  :  and  that,  in  consequence,  the 
very  moderate  income,  which  was  all  he  was  able  to  leave  her, 
would  soon  be  found  insufficient  to  supply  her  with  comforts. 

We  will  not  venture  to  say  that  duty  to  his  aunt  Marsden 
was  the  young  lieutenant's  only  incentive  to  this  visit :  as  she 
had  a  beautiful  daughter  about  eighteen,  for  whom,  since  her 
earliest  childhood,  Bromley  Cheston  had  felt  something  a  little 
more  vivid  than  the  usual  degree  of  regard  that  boys  think 
sufficient, for  their  cousins.  His  family  had  formerly  lived  in 
Philadelphia,  and  till  he  went  into  the  navy  Bromley  and 
Albina  were  in  habits  of  daily  intercourse.  Afterwards,  on 
returning  from  sea,  he  always,  as  soon  as  he  set  his  foot  on 
American  ground,  began  to  devise  means  of  seeing  his  pretty 
cousin,  however  short  the  time  and  however  great  the  dis 
tance.  And  it  was  in  meditation  on  Albina's  beauty  and 
sprightliness  that  he  had  often  "  while  sailing  on  the  mid 
night  deep,"  beguiled  the  long  hours  of  the  watch,  and  thus 
rendered  more  tolerable  that  dreariest  part  of  a  seaman's  duty. 

(13) 


1  L  :WRS.  -WASHINGTON  POTTS. 

On  arriving  at  the  village,  Lieutenant  Cheston  immediately 
established  his  quarters  at  the  hotel,  fearing  that  to  become 
an  inmate  of  his  aunt's  house  might  cause  her  some  incon 
venience.  Though  he  had  performed  the  whole  journey  in  a 
steamboat,  he  could  not  refrain  from  changing  his  waistcoat, 
brushing  his  coat  sleeves,  brushing  his  hat,  brushing  his  hair, 
and  altering  the  tie  of  his  cravat.  Though  he  had  "  never 
told  his  love/'  it  cannot  be  said  that  concealment  had  "  preyed 
on  his  damask  cheek;"  the  only  change  in  that  damask  having 
been  effected  by  the  sun  and  wind  of  the  ocean. 

Mrs.  Marsden  lived  in  a  small  modest-looking  white  house, 
with  a  green  door  and  green  Venetian  shutters.  In  early  sum 
mer  the  porch  was  canopied  and  perfumed  with  honeysuckle, 
and  the  windows  with  roses.  In  front  was  a  flower-garden, 
redolent  of  sweetness  and  beauty ;  behind  was  a  well-stored 
potager,  and  a  flourishing  little  orchard.  The  windows  were 
amply  shaded  by  the  light  and  graceful  foliage  of  some  beauti 
ful  locust  trees. 

"  What  a  lovely  spot !"  exclaimed  Cheston — and  innocence 
— modesty — candour — contentment — peace — simple  pleasures 
— intellectual  enjoyments — and  various  other  delightful  ideas 
chased  each  other  rapidly  through  his  mind. 

When  he  knocked  at  the  door,  it  was  opened  by  a  black 
girl  named  Drusa,  who  had  been  brought  up  in  the  family, 
and  whose  delight  on  seeing  him  was  so  great  that  she  could 
scarcely  find  it  in  her  heart  to  tell  him  that  "  the  ladies  were 
both  out,  or  at  least  partly  out."  Cheston,  however,  more 
than  suspected  that  they  were  wholly  at  home,  for  he  saw  his 
aunt  peeping  over  the  bannisters,  and  had  a  glimpse  of  his 
cousin  flitting  into  the  back  parlour ;  and  besides,  the  whole 
domicile  was  evidently  in  some  great  commotion,  strongly 
resembling  that  horror  of  all  men,  a  house-cleaning.  The 
carpets  had  been  removed,  and  the  hall  was  filled  with  the 
parlour-chairs :  half  of  them  being  turned  bottom  upwards  on 
the  others,  with  looking-glasses  and  pictures  leaning  against 
them;  and  he  knew  that,  on  such  occasions,  the  ladies  of  a 
family  in  middle  life  are  never  among  the  missing. 

"Go  and  give  Lieutenant  Cheston' s  compliments  to  your 
ladies,"  said  he,  a  and  let  them  know  that  he  is  waiting  to 
see  them." 

Mrs.  Marsden  now  ran  down  stairs  in  a  wrapper  and  morn 
ing  cap,  and  gave  her  nephew  a  very  cordial  reception.  "Our 
house  is  just  now  in  such  confusion,"  said  she,  "  that  I  have 


MRS.  WASHINGTON   POTTS.  15 

no  place  to  invite  you  to  sit  down  in,  except  the  back  porch." 
— And  there  they  accordingly  took  their  seats. 

"  Do  not  suppose/'  continued  Mrs.  Marsden,  "  that  we  are 
cleaning  house :  but  we  are  going  to  have  a  party  to-night, 
and  therefore  you  are  most  fortunate  in  your  arrival,  for  I 
think  I  can  promise  you  a  very  pleasant  evening.  We  have 
sent  invitations  to  all  the  most  genteel  families  within  seven 
miles,  and  I  can  assure  you  there  was  a  great  deal  of  trouble 
in  getting  the  notes  conveyed.  We  have  also  asked  a  number 
of  strangers  from  the  city,  who  happen  to  be  boarding  114  the 
village ;  we  called  on  them  for  that  purpose.  If  all  that  are 
invited  were  to  come,  we  should  have  a  complete  squeeze ; 
but  unluckily  we  have  received  an  unusual  number  of  regrets, 
and  some  have  as  yet  returned  no  answers  at  all.  However, 
we  are  sure  of  Mrs.  Washington  Potts." 

"  I  see,"  said  Cheston,  "  you  are  having  your  parlours 
papered." — "  Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Marsden,  "we  could  not' 
possibly  have  a  party  with  that  old-fashioned  paper  on  the 
walls,  and  we  sent  to  the  city  a  week  ago  for  a  man  to  come 
and  bring  with  him  some  of  the  newest  patterns,  but  he  never 
made  his  appearance  till  last  night  after  we  had  entirely  given 
him  up,  and  after  we  had  had  the  rooms  put  in  complete  order 
in  other  respects.  But  he  says,  as  the  parlours  are  very  small, 
he  can  easily  put  on  the  new  paper  before  evening,  so  we 
thought  it  better  to  take  up  the  carpets,  and  take  down  the 
curtains,  and  undo  all  that  we  did  yesterday,  rather  than  the 
walls  should  look  old-fashioned.  I  did  intend  having  them 
painted,  which  would  of  course  be  much  better,  only  that 
there  was  no  time  to  get  that  done  before  the  party ;  so  we 
must  defer  the  painting  now  for  three  or  four  years,  till  this 
new  paper  has  grown  old." 

"  But  where  is  Albina  ?"  asked  Cheston. 

"The  truth  is,"  answered  Mrs.  Marsden,  "she  is  very 
busy  making  cakes  ]  as  in  this  place  we  can  buy  none  that 
are  fit  for  a  party.  Luckily  Albina  is  very  clever  at  all  such 
things,  having  been  a  pupil  of  Mrs.  G-oodfellow.  But  there 
is  certainly  a  great  deal  of  trouble  in  getting  up  a  party  in  the 
country." 

Just  then  the  black  girl,  Drusa,  made  her  appearance,  and 
said  to  Mrs.  Marsden,  "I've  been  for  that  there  bean  you 
call  wanilla,  and  Mr.  Brown  says  he  never  heard  of  such  a 
thing." 

"  A  man  that  keeps  so  large  a  store  has  no  right  to  be  so 


16  MRS.  WASHINGTON   POTTS. 

ignorant/'  remarked  Mrs.  Marsden.  "  Then,  Drusa,  we  must 
flavour  the  ice-cream  with  lemon. " 

"  There  a' n't  no  more  lemons  to  be  had/'  said  the  girl,  "and 
we've  just  barely  enough  for  the  lemonade." 

"Then  some  of  the  lemons  must  be  taken  for  the  ice 
cream/'  replied  Mrs.  Marsden,  "  and  we  must  make  out  the 
lemonade  with  cream  of  tartar." 

"  I  forgot  to  tell  you/'  said  Drusa,  "  that  Mrs.  Jones  says 
she  can't  spare  no  more  cream,  upon  no  account." 

"ilow  vexatious  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Marsden.  "  I  wish  we 
'had  two  cows  of  our  own — one  is  not  sufficient  when  we  are 
about  giving  a  party.  Drusa,  we  must  make  out  the  ice-cream 
by  thickening  some  milk  with  eggs." 

"  Eggs  are  scace,"  replied  the  girl,  "  Miss  Albinar  uses  up 
so  many  for  the  cakes." 

"  She  must  spare  some  eggs  from  the  cakes/'  said  Mrs. 
Marsden,  "  and  make  out  the  cakes  by  adding  a  little  pearl-ash. 
Go  directly  and  tell  her  so." 

Cheston,  though  by  no  means  au  fait  to  the  mysteries  of 
confectionary,  could  not  help  smiling  at  all  this  making  out — 
"Really,"  said  his  aunt,  "these  things  are  very  annoying. 
And  as  this  party  is  given  to  Mrs.  Washington  Potts,  it  is 
extremely  desirable  that  nothing  should  fail.  There  is  no 
such  thing  now  as  having  company,  unless  we  can  receive  and 
entertain  them  in  a  certain  style." 

"  I  perfectly  remember,"  said  Cheston,  "  the  last  party  at 
which  I  was  present  in  your  house.  I  was  then  a  midshipman, 
and  it  was  just  before  I  sailed  on  my  first  cruise  in  the  Pacific. 
I  spent  a  delightful  evening." 

"  Yes,  I  recollect  that  night,"  replied  Mrs.  Marsden.  "  In 
those  days  it  was  not  necessary  for  us  to  support  a  certain 
style,  and  parties  were  then  very  simple  things,  except  among 
people  of  the  first  rank.  It  was  thought  sufficient  to  have 
two  or  three  baskets  of  substantial  cakes  at  tea,  some  almonds, 
raisins,  apples,  and  oranges,  handed  round  afterwards,  with 
wine  and  cordial,  and  then  a  large-sized  pound-cake  at  the 
last.  The  company  assembled  at  seven  o'clock,  and  gene 
rally  walked ;  for  the  ladies'  dresses  were  only  plain  white 
muslin.  We  invited  but  as  many  as  could  be  accommodated 
with  seats.  The  young  people  played  at  forfeits,  and  sung 
English  and  Scotch  songs,  and  at  the  close  of  the  evening 
danced  to  the  piano.  How  Mrs.  Washington  Potts  would 


MRS.  WASHINGTON   POTTS.  17 

be  shocked  if  she  was  to  find  herself  at  one  of  those  obsolete 
parties !" 

"  The  calf-jelly  won't  be  clear,"  said  the  black  girl,  again 
making  her  appearance.  "  Aunt  Katy  has  strained  it  five  times 
over  through  the  flannen-bag." 

"  Gro  then  and  tell  her  to  strain  it  five-and-twenty  times/7 
said  Mrs.  Marsden  angrily — "It  must  and  shall  be  clear. 
Nothing  is  more  vulgar  than  clouded  jelly ;  Mrs.  Washington 
Potts  will  not  touch  it  unless  it  is  transparent  as  amber." 

"What,  Nong  tong  paw  again!"  said  Cheston.  "Now  do 
tell  me  who  is  Mrs.  Washington  Potts  ?" 

"  Is  it  possible  you  have  not  heard  of  her  ?"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Marsden. 

" Indeed  I  have  not,"  replied  Cheston.  "You  forget  that 
for  several  years  I  have  been  cruising  on  classic  ground,  and  I 
can  assure  you  that  the  name  of  Mrs.  Washington  Potts  has 
not  yet  reached  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean." 

"  She  is  wife  to  a  gentleman  that  has  made  a  fortune  in 
New  Orleans,"  pursued  Mrs.  Marsden.  "  They  came  last 
winter  to  live  in  Philadelphia,  having  first  visited  London  and 
Paris.  During  the  warm  weather  they  took  lodgings  in  this 
village,  and  we  have  become  quite  intimate.  So  we  have  con 
cluded  to  give  them  a  party,  previous  to  their  return  to  Phi 
ladelphia,  which  is  to  take  place  immediately.  She  is  a 
charming  woman,  though  she  certainly  makes  strange  mistakes 
in  talking.  You  have  no  idea  how  sociable  she  is,  at  least 
since  she  returned  our  call ;  which,  to  be  sure,  was  not  till  the 
end  of  a  week ;  and  Albina  and  I  had  sat  up  in  full  dress  to 
receive  her  for  no  less  than  five  days :  that  is,  from  twelve 
o'clock  till  three.  At  last  she  came,  and  it  would  have  sur 
prised  you  to  see  how  affably  she  behaved  to  us." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Cheston,  "I  should  not  have  expected 
that  she  would  have  treated  you  rudely." 

"  She  really,"  continued  Mrs.  Marsden,  "grew  quite  intimate 
before  her  visit  was  over,  and  took  our  hands  at  parting. 
And  as  she  went  out  through  the  garden,  she  stopped  to  admire 
Albina' s  moss-roses :  so  we  could  do  no  less  than  give  her  all 
that  were  blown.  From  that  day  she  has  always  sent  to  us 
when  she  wants  flowers." 

"  No  doubt  of  it,"  said  Cheston. 

"  You  cannot  imagine,"  pursued  Mrs.  Marsden,  "  on  what 
a  familiar  footing  we  are.  She  has  a  high  opinion  of  Albina's 
taste,  and  often  gets  her  to  make  up  caps  and  do  other  little 


18  MRS.  WASHINGTON   POTTS. 

things  for  her.  When  any  of  her  children  are  sick,  she  never 
sends  anywhere  else  for  currant  jelly  or  preserves.  Albina 
makes  gingerbread  for  them  every  Saturday.  During  the  holi 
days  she  frequently  sent  her  three  boys  to  spend  the  day  with 
us.  There  is  the  very  place  in  the  railing  where  Randolph 
broke  out  a  stick  to  whip  Jefferson  with,  because  Jefferson  had 
thrown  in  his  face  a  hot  baked  apple  which  the  mischievous 
little  rogue  had  stolen  out  of  Katy's  oven." 

In  the  mean  time  Albina  had  taken  off  the  brown  holland 
bib  apron  which  she  had  worn  all  day  in  the  kitchen,  and 
telling  the  cook  to  watch  carefully  the  plum-cake  that  was 
baking,  she  hastened  to  her  room  by  a  back  staircase,  and  pro 
ceeded  to  take  the  pins  out  of  her  hair ;  for  where  is  the  young 
lady  that  on  any  emergency  whatever,  would  appear  before  a 
young  gentleman  with  her  hair  pinned  up  ?  Though,  just  now, 
the  opening  out  of  her  curls  was  a  considerable  inconvenience 
to  Albina,  as  she  had  bestowed  much  time  and  pains  on  putting 
them  up  for  the  evening. 

Finally  she  came  down  in  (<  prime  array  j"  and  Cheston,  who 
had  left  her  a  school-girl,  found  her  now  grown  to  womanhood, 
and  more  beautiful  than  ever.  Still  he  could  not  forbear  re 
proving  her  for  treating  him  so  much  as  a  stranger,  and  not 
coming  to  him  at  once  in  her  morning-dress. 

"  Mrs.  Washington  Potts,"  said  Albina,  e(  is  of  opinion 
that  a  young  lady  should  never  be  seen  in  dishabille  by  a 
gentleman." 

Cheston  now  found  it  very  difficult  to  hear  the  name  of  Mrs. 
Potts  with  patience. — " Albina,"  thought  hc;  "is  bewitched 
as  well  as  her  mother." 

He  spoke  of  his  cruise  in  the  Mediterranean ;  and  Albina 
told  him  that  she  had  seen  a  beautiful  view  of  the  bay  of 
Naples  in  a  souvenir  belonging  to  Mrs.  Washington  Potts. 

"  I  have  brought  with  me  some  sketches  of  Mediterranean 
scenery,"  pursued  Cheston.  "  You  know  I  draw  a  little.  I 
promise  myself  great  pleasure  in  showing  and  explaining  them 
to  you." 

"  Oh !  do  send  them  this  afternoon,"  exclaimed  Albina. 
"  They  will  be  the  very  things  for  the  centre-table.  I  dare 
say  the  Montagues  will  recognise  some  of  the  places  they 
have  seen  in  Italy,  for  they  have  travelled  all  over  the  south 
of  Europe." 

"  And  who  are  the  Montagues  ?"  inquired  Cheston. 


MRS.  WASHINGTON    POTTS.  19 

"  They  are  a  very  elegant  English  family/'  answered  Mrs. 
Marsden,  "  cousins  in  some  way  to  several  noblemen." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  Cheston. 

"  Albina  met  with  them  at  the  lodgings  of  Mrs.  "Washing 
ton  Potts,"  pursued  Mrs.  Marsden,  "  where  they  have  been 
staying  a  week  for  the  benefit  of  country  air;  and  so  she 
enclosed  her  card,  and  sent  them  invitations  to  her  party. 
They  have  as  yet  returned  no  answer ;  but  that  is  no  proof 
they  will  not  come,  for  perhaps  it  may  be  the  newest  fashion 
in  England  not  to  answer  notes." 

"  You  know  the  English  are  a  very  peculiar  people,"  re 
marked  Albina. 

"  And  what  other  lions  have  you  provided  ?"  said  Cheston. 

"  Oh  !  no  others  except  a  poet,"  replied  Albina.  "  Have 
you  never  heard  of  Bewley  Garvin  dandy  ?" 

"  Never  !"  answered  Cheston.     "  Is  that  all  one  man  ?" 

"  Nonsense,"  replied  Albina;  "  you  know  that  poets  gene 
rally  have  three  names.  B.  G.  G.  was  formerly  Mr.  Gandy's 
signature  when  he  wrote  only  for  the  newspapers,  but  now 
since  he  has  come  out  in  the  magazines,  and  annuals,  and 
published  his  great  poem  of  the  World  of  Sorrow,  he  gives 
his  name  at  full  length.  He  has  tried  law,  physic,  and  divi 
nity,  and  has  resigned  all  for  the  Muses.  He  is  a  great  favour 
ite  of  Mrs.  Washington  Potts." 

"  And  now,  Albina,"  said  Cheston,  "  as  I  know  you  can 
have  but  little  leisure  to-day,  I  will  only  detain  you  while  you 
indulge  me  with  '  Auld  lang  syne' — I  see  the  piano  has  been 
moved  out  into  the  porch." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Marsden,  "  on  account  of  the  parlour 
papering." 

"  Oh  !  Bromley  Cheston,"  exclaimed  Albina,  "do  not  ask 
me  to  play  any  of  those  antediluvian  Scotch  songs.  Mrs. 
Washington  Potts  cannot  tolerate  anything  but  Italian." 

Cheston,  who  had  no  taste  for  Italian,  immediately  took  his 
hat,  and  apologizing  for  the  length  of  his  stay,  was  going 
away  with  the  thought  that  Albina  had  much  deteriorated  in 
growing  up. 

"  We  shall  see  you  this  evening  without  the  ceremony  of  a 
further  invitation  ?"  said  Albina. 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Cheston. 

"  I  quite  long  to  introduce  you  to  Mrs.  Washington  Potts/' 
said  Mrs.  Marsden. 
2 


20  MRS.  WASHINGTON   POTTS. 

"  What  simpletons  these  women  are  !"  thought  Cheston,  as 
he  hastily  turned  to  depart. 

"  The  big  plum-cake's  burnt  to  a  coal,"  said  Drusa,  putting 
her  head  out  of  the  kitchen  door. 

Both  the  ladies  were  off  in  an  instant  to  the  scene  of  disas 
ter.  And  Cheston  returned  to  his  hotel,  thinking  of  Mrs. 
Potts  (whom  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  dislike),  of  the  old 
adage  that  "  evil  communication  corrupts  good  manners,"  and 
of  the  almost  irresistible  contagion  of  folly  and  vanity.  "  I 
am  disappointed  in  Albina,"  said  he;  "in  future  I  will  regard 
her  only  as  my  mother's  niece,  and  more  than  a  cousin  she 
shall  never  be  to  me." 

Albina  having  assisted  Mrs.  Marsden  in  lamenting  over  the 
burnt  cake,  took  off  her  silk  frock,  again  pinned  up  her  hair, 
and  joined  assiduously  in  preparing  another  plum-cake  to 
replace  the  first  one.  A  fatality  seemed  to  attend  nearly  all 
the  confections,  as  is  often  the  case  when  particular  importance 
is  attached  to  their  success.  The  jelly  obstinately  refused  to 
clarify,  and  the  blanc-mange  was  equally  unwilling  to  congeal. 
The  maccaroons  having  run  in  baking,  had  neither  shape  nor 
feature,  the  kisses  declined  rising,  and  the  sponge-cake  contra 
dicted  its  name.  Some  of  the  things  succeeded,  but  most  were 
complete  failures :  probably  because  (as  old  Katy  insisted) 
"  there  was  a  spell  upon  them."  In  a  city  these  disasters 
could  easily  have  been  remedied  (even  at  the  eleventh  hour) 
by  sending  to  a  confectioner's  shop,  but  in  the  country  there 
is  no  alternative.  Some  of  these  mischances  might  perhaps 
have  been  attributed  to  the  volunteered  assistance  of  a  man- 
tua-maker  that  had  been  sent  for  from  the  city  to  make  new 
dresses  for  the  occasion,  and  who  on  this  busy  day,  being  "one 
of  the  best  creatures  in  the  world,"  had  declared  her  willing 
ness  to  turn  her  hand  to  anything. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  before  the  papering  was  over, 
and  then  great  indeed  was  the  bustle  in  clearing  away  the 
litter,  cleaning  the  floors,  putting  down  the  carpets,  and  re 
placing  the  furniture.  In  the  midst  of  the  confusion,  and 
while  the  ladies  were  earnestly  engaged  in  fixing  the  orna 
ments,  Drusa  came  in  to  say  that  Dixon,  the  waiter  that  had 
been  hired  for  the  evening,  had  just  arrived,  and  falling  to 
work  immediately  he  had  poured  all  the  blanc-mange  down 
the  sink,  mistaking  it  for  bonnyclabber.  *  This  intelligence 

*  Thick  sour  milk. 


MRS.  WASHINGTON   POTTS.  21 

was  almost  too  much  to  bear,  and  Mrs.  Marsden  could  scarcely 
speak  for  vexation. 

"Drusa,"  said  Albina,  "you  are  a  raven  that  has  done 
nothing  all  day  but  croak  of  disaster.  Away,  and  show  your 
face  no  more,  let  what  will  happen/' 

Drusa  departed,  but  in  a  few  minutes  she  again  put  in  her 
head  at  the  parlour  door  and  said,  "Ma'am,  may  I  jist  speak 
one  time  more  ?" 

"What  now?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Marsden, 

"  Oh  !  there's  nothing  else  spiled  or  flung  down  the  sink, 
jist  now,"  said  Drusa,  "but  something's  at  hand  a  heap  worse 
than  all.  Missus's  old  Aunt  Quimby  has  jist  landed  from  the 
boat,  and  is  coming  up  the  road  with  baggage  enough  to  last 
all  summer." 

"Aunt  Quimby  !"  exclaimed  Albina;  "this  indeed  caps  the 
climax !" 

"Was  there  ever  anything  more  provoking!"  said  Mrs. 
Marsden.  "  When  I  lived  in  town  she  annoyed  me  sufficiently 
by  coming  every  week  to  spend  a  day  with  me,  and  now  she 
does  not  spend  days  but  weeks.  I  would  go  to  Alabama  to 
get  rid  of  her." 

"And  then,"  said  Albina,  "she  would  come  and  spend 
months  with  us.  However,  to  do  her  justice,  she  is  a  very 
respectable  woman." 

"All  bores  are  respectable  people,"  replied  Mrs.  Marsden; 
"if  they  were  otherwise,  it  would  not  be  in  their  power  to 
bore  us,  for  we  could  cut  them  and  cast  them  off  at  once. 
How  very  unlucky !  What  will  Mrs.  Washington  Potts  think 
of  her — and  the  Montagues  too,  if  they  should  come  ?  Still 
we  must  not  affront  her,  as  you  know  she  is  rich." 

"What  can  her  riches  signify  to  us?"  said  Albina;  "she  has 
a  married  daughter." 

"True,"  replied  Mrs.  Marsden,  "but  you  know  riches  should 
always  command  a  certain  degree  of  respect,  and  there  are  such 
things  as  legacies." 

( '  After  all,  according  to  the  common  saying, t  tis  an  ill  wind 
that  blows  no  good;'  the  parlours  having  been  freshly  papered, 
we  can  easily  persuade  Aunt  Quimby  that  they  are  too  damp 
ToHier  to  sit  in,  and  so  we  can  make  her  stay  up  stairs  all  the 
evening." 

this  moment  the  old  lady's  voice  was  heard  at  the  door, 

charging  the  porter  who  had  brought  her  baggage  on  his 
wheelbarrow ;  and  the  next  minute  she  was  in  the  front  par- 


22  MRS.  WASHINGTON   POTTS. 

lour.  Mrs.  Marsden  and  Albina  were  properly  astonished,  and 
properly  delighted  at  seeing  her ;  but  each,  after  a  pause  of 
recollection,  suddenly  seized  the  old  lady  by  the  arms  and 
conveyed  her  into  the  entry,  exclaiming,  "  Oh  !  Aunt  Quimby  ! 
Aunt  Quimby !  this  is  no  place  for  you." 

" What's  the  meaning  of  all  this?"  cried  Mrs.  Quimby ; 
"  why  won't  you  let  me  stay  in  the  parlour  ?" 

u  You'll  get  your  death,"  answered  Mrs.  Marsden,  <c  you'll 
get  the  rheumatism.  Both  parlours  have  been  newly  papered 
to-day,  and  the  walls  are  quite  wet." 

"  That's  a  bad  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Quimby,  "a  very  bad 
thing.  I  wish  you  had  put  off  your  papering  till  next  spring. 
Who'd  have  thought  of  your  doing  it  this  day  of  all  days  ?" 

"  Oh  !  Aunt  Quimby,"  said  Albina,  "  why  did  you  not  let 
us  know  that  you  were  coming  ?" 

"  Why,  I  wanted  to  give  you  an  agreeable  surprise,"  replied 
the  old  lady.  "  But  tell  me  why  the  rooms  are  so  decked  out, 
with  flowers  hanging  about  the  looking-glasses  and  lamps,  and 
why  the  candles  are  dressed  with  cut  paper,  or  something  that 
looks  like  it?" 

"  We  are  going  to  have  a  party  to-night,"  said  Albina. 

"  A  party  !  I'm  glad  of  it.  Then  I'm  come  just  in  the 
nick  of  time." 

"  I  thought  you  had  long  since  given  up  parties/'  said  Mrs. 
Marsden,  turning  pale. 

"  No,  indeed — why  should  I — I  always  go  when  I  am  asked 
— to  be  sure  I  can't  make  much  figure  at  parties  now,  being 
in  my  seventy-fifth  year.  But  Mrs.  Howks  and  Mrs.  Himes, 
and  several  others  of  my  old  friends,  always  invite  me  to  their 
daughters'  parties,  along  with  Mary ;  and  I  like  to  sit  there 
and  look  about  me,  and  see  people's  new  ways.  Mary  had  a 
party  herself  last  winter,  and  it  went  off  very  well,  only  that 
both  the  children  came  out  that  night  with  the  measles ;  and 
one  of  the  lamps  leaked,  and  the  oil  ran  all  over  the  side 
board  and  streamed  down  on  the  carpet;  and,  it  being  the  first 
time  we  ever  had  ice-cream  in  the  house,  Peter,  the  stupid 
black  boy,  not  only  brought  saucers  to  eat  it  in,  but  cups  and 
saucers  both." 

The  old  lady  was  now  hurried  up  stairs,  and  she  showed 
much  dissatisfaction  on  being  told  that  as  the  damp  parlours 
would  certainly  give  her  her  death,  there  was  no  alternative 
but  for  her  to  remain  all  the  evening  in  the  chamber  allotted 
to  her.  This  chamber  (the  best  furnished  in  the  house)  was 


MRS.  WASHINGTON   POTTS.  23 

also  to  be  '  the  ladies'  room/  and  Albina  somewhat  consoled 
Mrs.  Quimby  by  telling  her  that  as  the  ladies  would  come  up 
there  to  take  off  their  hoods  and  arrange  their  hair,  she  would 
have  an  opportunity  of  seeing  them  all  before  they  went  down 
stairs.  And  Mrs.  Marsden  promised  to  give  orders  that  a  por 
tion  of  all  the  refreshments  should  be  carried  up  to  her,  and 
that  Miss  Matson,  the  mantua-maker,  should  sit  with  her  a 
great  part  of  the  evening. 

It  was  now  time  for  Albina  and  her  mother  to  commence 
dressing,  but  Mrs.  Marsden  went  down  stairs  again  with 
*  more  last  words'  to  the  servants,  and  Albina  to  make  some 
change  in  the  arrangement  of  the  centre-table. 

She  was  in  a  loose  gown,  her  curls  were  pinned  up,  and  to 
keep  them  close  and  safe,  she  had  tied  over  her  head  an  old 
gauze  handkerchief.  "While  bending  over  the  centre-table,  and 
marking  with  rose-leaves  some  of  the  most  beautiful  of  Mrs. 
Hemans'  poems,  and  opening  two  or  three  souvenirs  at  their 
finest  plates,  a  knock  was  suddenly  heard  at  the  door,  which 
proved  to  be  the  baker  with  the  second  plum-cake,  it  having 
been  consigned  to  his  oven.  Albina  desired  him  to  bring  it 
to  her,  and  putting  it  on  the  silver  waiter,  she  determined  to 
divide  it  herself  into  slices,  being  afraid  to  trust  that  busi 
ness  to  any  one  else,  lest  it  should  be  awkwardly  cut,  or  broken 
to  pieces ;  it  being  quite  warm. 

The  baker  went  out,  leaving  the  front  door  open,  and  Al 
bina,  intent  on  her  task  of  cutting  the  cake,  did  not  look  up 
till  she  heard  the  sound  of  footsteps  in  the  parlour;  and  then 
what  was  her  dismay  on  perceiving  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Montague 
and  their  daughter. 

Albina' s  first  impulse  was  to  run  away,  but  she  saw  that  it 
was  now  too  late ;  and,  pale  with  confusion  and  vexation,  she 
tried  to  summon  sufficient  self-command  to  enable  her  to  pass 
off  this  contre-tems  with  something  like  address. 

It  was  not  yet  dusk,  the  sun  being  scarcely  down,  and  of 
all  the  persons  invited  to  the  party,  it  was  natural  to  suppose 
that  the  English  family  would  have  come  the  latest. 

Mr.  Montague  was  a  long-bodied  short-legged  man,  with 
round  gray  eyes,  that  looked  as  if  they  had  been  put  on  the 
outside  of  his  face,  the  sockets  having  no  apparent  concavity : 
a  sort  of  eye  that  is  rarely  seen  in  an  American.  He  had  a 
long  nose  and  a  large  heavy  mouth  with  projecting  under- 
teeth,  and  altogether  an  unusual  quantity  of  face ;  which  face 
was  bordered  round  with  whiskers,  that  began  at  his  eyes  and 
9  * 


24  MRS.  WASHINGTON   POTTS. 

met  under  bis  chin,  and  resembled  in  texture  the  coarse  wiry 
fur  of  a  black  bear.  He  kept  his  hat  under  his  arm,  and  his 
whole  dress  seemed  as  if  modelled  from  one  of  the  caricature 
prints  of  a  London  dandy. 

Mrs.  Montague  (evidently  some  years  older  than  her  hus 
band)  was  a  gigantic  woman,  with  features  that  looked  as  if 
seen  through  a  magnifying  glass.  She  wore  heavy  piles  of 
yellowish  curls,  and  a  crimson  velvet  tocque.  Her  daughter 
was  a  tall  hard-faced  girl  of  seventeen,  meant  for  a  child  by 
her  parents,  but  not  meaning  herself  as  such.  She  was  dressed 
in  a  white  muslin  frock  and  trowsers,  and  had  a  mass  of  black 
hair  curling  on  her  neck  and  shoulders. 

They  all  fixed  their  large  eyes  directly  upon  Albina,  and  it 
was  no  wonder  that  she  quailed  beneath  their  glance,  or  rather 
their  stare,  particularly  when  Mrs.  Montague  surveyed  her 
through  her  eye-glass.  Mr.  Montague  spoke  first.  "Your 
note  did  not  specify  the  hour — Miss — Miss  Martin,"  said  he, 
"and  as  you  Americans  are  early  people,  we  thought  we  were 
complying  with  the  simplicity  of  republican  manners  by 
coming  before  dark.  "We  suppose  that  in  general  you  adhere 
to  the  primitive  maxim  of  'early  to  bed  and  early  to  rise.' 
I  forget  the  remainder  of  the  rhyme;  but  you  know  it 
undoubtedly." 

Albina  at  that  moment  wished  for  the  presence  of  Bromley 
Cheston.  She  saw  from  the  significant  looks  that  passed 
between  the  Montagues,  that  the  unseasonable  earliness  of 
this  visit  did  not  arise  from  their  ignorance  of  the  customs  of 
American  society,  but  from  premeditated  impertinence.  And 
she  regretted  still  more  having  invited  them,  when  Mr.  Mon 
tague  with  impudent  familiarity  walked  up  to  the  cake  (which 
she  had  nicely  cut  into  slices  without  altering  its  form)  and 
took  one  of  them  out. — "Miss  Martin,"  said  he,  "your  cake 
looks  so  inviting  that  I  cannot  refrain  from  helping  myself  to 
a  piece.  Mrs.  Montague,  give  me  leave  to  present  one  to  you. 
Miss  Montague,  will  you  try  a  slice  ?" 

They  sat  down  on  the  sofa,  each  with  a  piece  of  cake,  and 
Albina  saw  that  they  could  scarcely  refrain  from  laughing 
openly,  not  only  at  her  dishabille,  but  at  her  disconcerted 
countenance. 

Just  at  this  moment,  Drusa  appeared  at  the  door,  and  called 
out,  "Miss  Albinar,  the  presarved  squinches  are  all  working. 
Missus  found  'em  so  when  she  opened  the  jar."  Albina  could 


MRS.  WASHINGTON  POTTS.  25 

bear  no  more,  but  hastily  darting  out  of  the  room,  she  ran  up 
stairs  almost  crying  with  vexation. 

Old  Mrs.  Quimby  was  loud  in  her  invectives  against  Mr. 
Montague  for  spoiling  the  symmetry  of  the  cake,  and  helping 
himself  and  his  family  so  unceremoniously.  "  You  may  rely 
upon  it,"  said  she,  "a  man  that  will  do  such  a  thing  in  a 
strange  house  is  no  gentleman." 

"On  the  contrary,"  observed  Mrs.  Marsden,  " I  have  no 
doubt  that  in  England  these  free  and  easy  proceedings  are 
high  ton.  Albina,  have  not  you  read  some  such  things  in 
Vivian  Grey  ?" 

"  I  do  not  believe,"  said  Mrs.  Quimby,  "  that  if  this  Eng 
lishman  was  in  his  own  country,  he  would  dare  to  go  and  take 
other  people's  cake  without  leave  or  license.  But  he  thinks 
any  sort  of  behavour  good  enough  for  the  Yankees,  as  they 
call  us." 

"  I  care  not  for  the  cake,"  said  Albina,  "  although  the  pieces 
must  now  be  put  into  baskets ;  I  only  think  of  the  Montagues 
walking  in  without  knocking,  and  catching  me  in  complete 
dishabille  :*  after  I  had  kept  poor  Bromley  Cheston  waiting 
half  an  hour  this  morning  rather  than  he  should  see  me  in  my 
pink  gingham  gown  and  with  my  hair  in  pins." 

"  As  sure  as  sixpence,"  remarked  Mrs.  Quimby,  "  this  last 
shame  has  come  upon  you  as  a  punishment  for  your  pride  to 
your  own  cousin." 

Mrs.  Marsden  having  gone  into  the  adjoining  room  to  dress, 
Albina  remained  in  this,  and  placed  herself  before  the  glass  for 
the  same  purpose.  <e  Heigho  !"  said  she,  ahow  pale  and  jaded 
I  look !  What  a  fatiguing  day  I  have  had  !  I  have  been  on 
my  feet  since  five  o'clock  this  morning,  and  I  feel  now  more 
fit  to  go  to  bed  than  to  add  to  my  weariness  by  the  task  of 
dressing,  and  then  playing  the  agreeable  for  four  or  five  hours. 
I  begin  to  think  that  parties  (at  least  such  parties  as  are  now 
in  vogue)  should  only  be  given  by  persons  who  have  large 
houses,  large  purses,  conveniences  of  every  description,  and 
servants  enough  to  do  all  that  is  necessary." 

"  Albina  is  talking  quite  sensibly,"  said  Aunt  Quimby  to 
Mrs.  Marsden,  who  came  in  to  see  if  her  daughter  required 
her  assistance  in  dressing. 

"  Pho  I"  said  Mrs.  Marsden,  "  think  of  the  eclat  of  giving  a 
party  to  Mrs.  Washington  Potts,  and  of  having  the  Montagues 
among  the  guests  !  We  shall  find  the  advantage  of  it  when  we 
visit  the  city  again." 


26  MRS.  WASHINGTON  £OTTS. 

"Albitta,"  said  Aunt  Quimby,  "now  we  are  about  dressing, 
just  quit  for  a  few  moments -and  help  me  on  with  iny  long 
stays  and  my  new  black  silk  gown,  and  let  me  have  the  glass 
awhile ;  I  am  going  to  wear  my  lace  cap  with  the  white  satin 
riband.  This  dark  calico  gown  and  plain  muslin  cap  won't 
do  at  all  to  sit  here  in.  before  all  the  ladies  that  are  coining 
up." 

"  Oh !  no  matter/'  replied  Albina,  who  was  unwilling  to 
relinquish  the  glass  or  to  occupy  any  of  her  time  by  assisting 
her  aunt  in  dressing  (which  was  always  a  troublesome  and 
tedious  business  with  the  old  lady)  •  and  her  mother  had  now 
gone  down  to  be  ready  for  the  reception  of  the  company,  and 
to  pay  her  compliments  to  the  Montagues.  "  Oh  !  no  matter/' 
said  Albina,  "your  present  dress  looks  perfectly  well;  and  the 
ladies  will  be  too  much  engaged  with  themselves  and  their 
own  dresses,  to  remark  anything  else.  No  one  will  observe 
whether  your  gown  is  calico  or  silk,  and  whether  your  cap  is 
muslin  or  lace.  Elderly  ladies  are  always  privileged  to  wear 
what  is  most  convenient  to  them." 

Albina  put  on  the  new  dress  that  the  mantua-maker  had 
made  for  her.  When  she  tried  it  on  the  preceding  evening 
Miss  Matson  declared  that  "  it  fitted  like  wax."  She  now 
found  that  it  was  scarcely  possible  to  get  it  on  at  all,  and  that 
one  side  of  the  forebody  was  larger  than  the  other.  Miss 
Matson  was  called  up,  and  by  dint  of  the  pulling,  stretching, 
and  smoothing  well  known  to  mantua-makers,  and  still  more 
by  means  of  her  pertinacious  assurances  that  the  dress  had  no 
fault  whatever,  Albina  was  obliged  to  acknowledge  that  she 
could  wear  it,  and  the  redundancy  of  the  large  side  was  pinned 
down  and  pinned  over.  In  sticking  in  her  comb  she  broke  it 
in  half,  and  it  was  long  before  she  could  arrange  her  hair  to  her 
satisfaction  without  it.  Before  she  had  completed  her  toilette, 
several  of  the  ladies  arrived  and  came  into  the  room ;  and  Albina 
was  obliged  to  snatch  up  her  paraphernalia,  and  make  her  escape 
into  the  next  apartment. 

At  last  she  was  dressed — she  went  down  stairs.  The  com 
pany  arrived  fast,  and  the  party  began. 

Bromley  Cheston  had  come  early  to  assist  in  doing  the 
honours,  and  as  he  led  Albina  to  a  seat,  he  saw  that,  in  spite 
of  her  smiles,  she  looked  weary  and  out  of  spirits  ]  and  he 
pitied  her.  "  After  all,"  thought  he,  "  there  is  much  that  is 
interesting  about  Albina  Marsden." 

The  party  was  very  select,  consisting  of  the  elite  of  the 


MRS.  WASHINGTON   POTTS.  27 

village  and  its  neighbourhood;  but  still,  as  is  often  the  case, 
those  whose  presence  was  most  desirable  had  sent  excuses,  and 
those  who  were  not  wanted  had  taken  care  to  come.  And 
Miss  Boreham  (a  young  lady  who,  having  nothing  else  to  re 
commend  her,  had  been  invited  solely  on  account  of  the  usual 
elegance  of  her  attire,  and  whose  dress  was  expected  to  add 
prodigiously  to  the  effect  of  the  rooms),  came  most  unaccount 
ably  in  an  old  faded  frock  of  last  year's  fashion,  with  her  hair 
quite  plain,  and  tucked  behind  her  ears  with  two  side-combs. 
Could  she  have  had  a  suspicion  of  the  reason  for  which  she 
was  generally  invited,  and  have  therefore  perversely  determined 
on  a  reaction  ? 

The  Montagues  sat  together  in  a  corner,  putting  up  their 
eye-glasses  at  every  one  that  entered  the  room,  and  criticising 
the  company  in  loud  whispers  to  each  other;  poor  Mrs. 
Marsden  endeavouring  to  catch  opportunities  of  paying  her 
court  to  them. 

About  nine  o'clock,  appeared  an  immense  cap  of  blond  lace, 
gauze  riband,  and  flowers ;  and  under  the  cap  was  Mrs.  Wash 
ington  Potts,  a  little,  thin,  trifling-looking  woman  with  a 
whitish  freckled  face,  small  sharp  features,  and  flaxen  hair. 
She  leaned  on  the  arm  of  Mr.  Washington  Potts,  who  was  no 
thing  in  company  or  anywhere  else ;  and  she  led  by  the  hand 
a  little  boy  in  a  suit  of  scarlet,  braided  and  frogged  with  blue  : 
a  pale  rat-looking  child,  whose  name  she  pronounced  Laughy- 
yet,  meaning  La  Fayette ;  and  who  being  the  youngest  scion 
of  the  house  of  Potts,  always  went  to  parties  with  his  mother, 
because  he  would  not  stay  at  home. 

Bromley  Cheston,  on  being  introduced  to  Mrs.  Washington 
Potts,  was  surprised  at  the  insignificance  of  her  figure  and 
face.  He  had  imagined  her  tall  in  stature,  large  in  feature, 
loud  in  voice,  and  in  short  the  very  counterpart  to  Mrs. 
Montague.  He  found  her,  however,  as  he  had  supposed, 
replete  with  vanity,  pride,  ignorance,  and  folly :  to  which  she 
added  a  sickening  affectation  of  sweetness  and  amiability,  and 
a  flimsy  pretension  to  extraordinary  powers  of  conversation, 
founded  on  a  confused  assemblage  of  incorrect  and  superficial 
ideas,  which  she  mistook  for  a  general  knowledge  of  everything 
in  the  world. 

Mrs.  Potts  was  delighted  with  the  handsome  face  and  figure, 
and  the  very  genteel  appearance  of  the  young  lieutenant,  and 
she  bestowed  upon  him  a  large  portion  of  her  talk. 


Z5  MRS.  WASHINGTON   POTTS. 

"  I  hear,  sir,"  said  she,  "you  have  been  in  the  Mediterranean 
Sea.  A  sweet  pretty  place,  is  it  not  ?" 

"  Its  shores,"  replied  Cheston,  "  are  certainly  very  beauti 
ful." 

"Yes,  I  should  admire  its  chalky  cliffs  vastly,"  resumed 
Mrs.  Potts ;  "  they  are  quite  poetical,  you  know.  Pray,  sir, 
which  do  you  prefer,  Byron  or  Bonaparte  ?  I  dote  upon  Byron  ; 
and  considering  what  sweet  verses  he  wrote,  'tis  a  pity  he  was 
a  corsair,  and  a  vampyre  pirate,  and  all  such  horrid  things. 
As  for  Bonaparte,  I  never  could  endure  him  after  I  found  that 
he  had  cut  off  poor  old  King  George's  head.  Now,  when  we 
talk  of  great  men,  my  husband  is  altogether  for  Washington. 
I  laugh,  and  tell  Mr.  Potts  it's  because  he  and  Washington  are 
namesakes.  How  do  you  like  La  Fayette?" — (pronouncing 
the  name  a.  la  canaille). 

"The  man,  or  the  name?"  inquired  Cheston. 

"  Oh !  both  to  be  sure.  You  see  we  have  called  our 
youngest  blossom  after  him.  Come  here,  La  Fayette,  stand  for 
ward,  my  dear;  hold  up  your  head,  and  make  a  bow  to  the 
gentleman." 

"  I  won't,"  screamed  La  Fayette.  "  I'll  never  make  a  bow 
when  you  tell  me." 

"  Something  of  the  spirit  of  his  ancestors,"  said  Mrs. 
Potts,  affectedly  smiling  to  Cheston,  and  patting  the  urchin  on 
the  head. 

"  His  ancestors  !"  thought  Cheston.  "  Who  could  they 
possibly  have  been  ?" 

"Perhaps  the  dear  fellow  may  be  a  little,  a  very  little 
spoiled,"  pursued  Mrs.  Potts.  "  But  to  make  a  comparison 
in  the  marine  line  (quite  in  your  way,  you  know),  it  is  as 
natural  for  a  mother's  heart  to  turn  to  her  youngest  darling, 
as  it  is  for  the  needle  to  point  out  the  longitude.  Now  we 
talk  of  longitude,  have  you  read  Cooper's  last  novel,  by  the 
author  of  the  Spy  ?  It's  a  sweet  book — Cooper  is  one  of  my 
pets.  I  saw  him  in  dear,  delightful  Paris.  Are  you  musical, 
Mr.  Cheston  ? — But  of  course  you  are.  Our  whole  aristocracy 
is  musical  now.  How  do  you  like  Paganini  ?  You  must  haye 
heard  him  in  Europe.  It's  a  very  expensive  thing  to  hear 
Paganini. — Poor  man  !  he  is  quite  ghastly  with  his  own  play 
ing.  Well,  as  you  have  been  in  the  Mediterranean,  which  do 
you  prefer,  the  Greeks  or  the  Poles  ?" 

"  The  Poles,  decidedly,"  answered  Cheston,  "  from  what  I 
have  heard  of  tlum,  and  seen  of  the  Greeks." 


MRS.  WASHINGTON   POTTS.  29 

"  Well,  for  my  part/'  resumed  Mrs.  Potts,  "  I  confess  I 
like  the  Greeks,  as  I  have  always  been  rather  classical.  They 
are  so  Grecian.  Think  of  their  beautiful  statues  and  paint 
ings  by  Rubens  and  Reynolds.  Are  you  fond  of  paintings  ? 
At  my  house  in  the  city,  I  can  show  you  some  very  fine 
ones/' 

"By  what  artists?"  asked  Cheston. 

tl  Oh  !  by  my  daughter  Harriet.  She  did  them  at  drawing- 
school  with  theorems.  They  are  beautiful  flower-pieces,  all 
framed  and  hung  up ;  they  are  almost  worthy  of  Sir  Benja 
min  West."* 

In  this  manner  Mrs.  Potts  ran  on  till  the  entrance  of  tea, 
and  Cheston  took  that  opportunity  of  escaping  from  her ; 
while  she  imagined  him  deeply  imbued  with  admiration  of 
her  fluency,  vivacity,  and  variety  of  information.  But  in 
reality,  he  was  thinking  of  the  strange  depravity  of  taste  that 
is  sometimes  found  even  in  intelligent  minds ;  for  in  no  other 
way  could  he  account  for  Albina's  predilection  for  Mrs.  Wash 
ington  Potts.  "  And  yet/'  thought  he,  "  is  a  young  and  inex 
perienced  girl  more  blameable  for  her  blindness  in  friendship 
(or  what  she  imagines  to  be  friendship),  than  an  acute,  sensi 
ble,  talented  man  for  his  blindness  in  love  ?  The  master-spirits 
of  the  earth  have  almost  proverbially  married  women  of  weak 
intellect,  and  almost  as  proverbially  the  children  of  such  mar 
riages  resemble  the  mother  rather  than  the  father.  A  just 
punishment  for  choosing  so  absurdly.  Albina,  I  must  know 
you  better." 

The  party  went  on,  much  as  parties  generally  do  where 
there  are  four  or  five  guests  that  are  supposed  to  rank  all  the 
others.  The  patricians  evidently  despised  the  plebeians,  and 
the  plebeians  were  offended  at  being  despised ;  for  in  no  Ame 
rican  assemblage  is  any  real  inferiority  of  rank  ever  felt  or 
acknowledged.  There  was  a  general  dullness,  and  a  general 
restraint.  Little  was  done,  and  little  was  said.  La  Fayette 
wandered  about  in  everybody's  way ;  having  been  kept  wide 
awake  all  the  evening  by  two  cups  of  strong  coffee,  which  his 
mother  allowed  him  to  take  because  he  would  have  them. 

There  was  always  a  group  round  the  centre-table,  listlessly 

*  The  author  takes  this  occasion  to  remark,  that  the  illustrious  artist 
to  whom  so  many  of  his  countrymen  erroneously  give  the  title  of  Sir 
Benjamin  West,  never  in  reality  had  the  compliment  of  knighthood 
conferred  on  him.  He  lived  and  died  Mr.  West,  as  is  well  known  to 
all  who  have  any  acquaintance  with  pictures  and  painters. 


30  MRS.  WASHINGTON   POTTS. 

turning  over  the  souvenirs,  albums,  &c.,  and  picking  at  the 
flowers;  and  La  Fayette  ate  plum-cake  over  Cheston's  beauti 
ful  drawings. 

Albina  played  an  Italian  song  extremely  well,  but  the  Mon 
tagues  exchanged  glances  at  her  music;  and  Mrs.  Potts,  to 
follow  suit,  hid  her  face  behind  her  fan  and  simpered ;  though 
in  truth  she  did  not  in  reality  know  Italian  from  French,  or  a 
semibreve  from  a  semiquaver.  All  this  was  a  great  annoy 
ance  to  Cheston.  At  Albina' s  request,  he  led  Miss  Montague 
to  the  piano.  She  ran  her  fingers  over  the  instrument  as  if 
to  try  it ;  gave  a  shudder,  and  declared  it  most  shockingly  out 
of  tune,  and  then  rose  in  horror  from  the  music  stool. ^  This 
much  surprised  Mrs.  Marsden,  as  a  musician  had  been  brought 
from  the  city  only  the  day  before  for  the  express  purpose  of 
tuning  this  very  instrument. 

"No,"  whispered  Miss  Montague,  as  she  resumed  her  seat 
beside  her  mother,  "I  will  not  condescend  to  play  before 
people  who  are  incapable  of  understanding  my  style." 

At  this  juncture  (to  the  great  consternation  of  Mrs.  Mars- 
den  and  her  daughter)  who  should  make  her  appearance  but 
Aunt  Quimby  in  the  calico  gown  which  Albina  now  regretted 
having  persuaded  her  to  keep  on.  The  old  lady  was  wrapped 
in  a  small  shawl  and  two  large  ones,  and  her  head  was  secured 
from  cold  by  a  black  silk  handkerchief  tied  over  her  cap  and 
under  her  chin.  She  smiled  and  nodded  all  round  to  the 
company,  and  said — "  How  do  you  do,  good  people ;  I  hope 
you  are  all  enjoying  yourselves.  I  thought  I  must  come  down 
and  have  a  peep  at  you.  For  after  I  had  seen  all  the  ladies 
take  off  their  hoods,  and  had  my  tea,  I  found  it  pretty  dull 
work  sitting  up  stairs  with  the  mantua-maker,  who  had  no 
more  manners  than  to  fall  asleep  while  I  was  talking." 

Mrs.  Marsden,  much  discomfited,  led  Aunt  Quimby  to  a 
chair  between  two  matrons  who  were  among  "the  unavoidably 
invited,"  and  whose  pretensions  to  refinement  were  not  very 
palpable.  But  the  old  lady  had  no  idea  of  remaining  stationary 
all  the  evening  between  Mrs.  Johnson  and  Mrs.  Jackson.  She 
wisely  thought  "she  could  see  more  of  the  party,"  if  she  fre 
quently  changed  her  place,  and  being  of  what  is  called  a  so 
ciable  disposition,  she  never  hesitated  to  talk  to  any  one  that 
was  near  her,  however  high  or  however  low. 

"Dear  mother,"  said  Albina  in  an  under-voice,  "what  can 
be  the  reason  that  every  one,  in  tasting  the  ice-cream,  imme- 


MRS.  WASHINGTON   POTTS.  31 

diately  sets  it  aside  as  if  it  was  not  fit  to  eat  ?     I  am  sure 
there  is  everything  in  it  that  ought  to  be." 

"And  something  more  than  ought  to  be,"  replied  Mrs. 
Marsden,  after  trying  a  spoonful — "the  salt  that  was  laid 
round  the  freezer  has  got  into  the  cream  (I  suppose  by  Dixon's 
carelessness),  and  it  is  not  fit  to  eat." 

"And  now,"  said  Albina,  starting,  "I  will  show  you  a  far 
worse  mortification  than  the  failure  of  the  ice-cream.  Only 
look — there  sits  Aunt  Quimby  between  Mr.  Montague  and 
Mrs.  Washington  Potts." 

"How  in  the  world  did  she  get  there?"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Marsden.  "I  dare  say  she  walked  up,  and  asked  them  to 
make  room  for  her  between  them.  There  is  nothing  now  to 
be  done  but  to  pass  her  off  as  well  as  we  can,  and  to  make  the 
best  of  her.  I  will  manage  to  get  as  near  as  possible,  that  I 
may  hear  what  she  is  talking  about,  and  take  an  opportunity 
of  persuading  her  away." 

As  Mrs.  Marsden  approached  within  hearing  distance,  Mr. 
Montague  was  leaning  across  Aunt  Quimby,  and  giving  Mrs. 
Potts  an  account  of  something  that  had  been  said  or  done 
during  a  splendid  entertainment  at  Devonshire  House. — "  Just 
at  that  moment,"  said  he,  "  I  was  lounging  into  the  room  with 
Lady  Augusta  Fitzhenry  on  my  arm  (unquestionably  the 
finest  woman  in  England),  and  Mrs.  Montague  was  a  few  steps 
in  advance,  leaning  on  my  friend  the  Marquis  of  Elviugton." 

"Pray,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Quimby,  "as  you  are  from  England, 
do  you  know  anything  of  Betsey  Dempscy's  husband  ?" 

"  I  have  not  the  honour  of  being  acquainted  with  that  per 
son,"  replied  Mr.  Montagus,  after  a  withering  stare. 

"Well,  that's  strange,"  pursued  Aunt  Quimby,  "considering 
that  he  has  been  living  in  London  at  least  eighteen  years — or 
perhaps  it  is  only  seventeen.  And  yet  I  think  it  must  be  near 
eighteen,  if  not  quite.  May-be  seventeen  and  a  half.  Well 
it's  best  to  be  on  the  safe  side,  so  I'll  say  seventeen.  Betsey 
Dempsey's  mother  was  an  old  school-mate  of  mine.  Her 
father  kept  the  Black  Horse  tavern.  She  was  the  only  ac 
quaintance  I  ever  had  that  married  an  Englishman.  He  was 
a  grocer,  and  in  very  good  business ;  but  he  never  liked  Ame 
rica,  and  was  always  finding  fault  with  it,  and  so  he  went 
home,  and  was  to  send  for  Betsey.  But  he  never  sent  for  her 
at  all ;  and  for  a  very  good  reason ;  which  was  that  he  had 
another  wife  in  England,  as  most  of  them  have — no  disparage 
ment  to  you,  sir." 
3 


32  MRS.  WASHINGTON   POTTS. 

Mrs.  Marsden  now  came  up,  and  informed  Mrs.  Potts  in  a 
whisper,  that  the  good  old  lady  beside  her,  was  a  distant  rela 
tion  or  rather  connexion  of  Mr.  Marsden' s,  and  that,  though 
a  little  primitive  in  appearance  and  manner,  she  had  con 
siderable  property  in  bank-stock.  To  Mrs.  Marsden's  proposal 
that  she  should  exchange  her  seat  for  a  very  pleasant  one 
in  the  other  room  next  to  her  old  friend,  Mrs.  Willis,  Aunt 
Quimby  replied  nothing  but  "  Thank  you,  I'm  doing  very  well 
here." 

Mrs.  and  Miss  Montague,  apparently  heeding  no  one  else, 
had  talked  nearly  the  whole  evening  to  each  other,  but  loudly 
enough  to  be  heard  by  all  around  them.  The  young  lady, 
though  dressed  as  a  child,  talked  like  a  woman,  and  she  and 
her  mother  were  now  engaged  in  an  argument  whether  the 
flirtation  of  the  Duke  of  Bisingham  with  Lady  Georgiana  Mel- 
bury  would  end  seriously  or  not. 

"To  my  certain  knowledge,"  said  Miss  Montague,  "his 
Grace  has  never  yet  declared  himself  to  Lady  Georgiana,  or  to 
any  one  else." 

"  I'll  lay  you  two  to  one,"  said  Mrs.  Montague,  "  that  he  is 
married  to  her  before  we  return  to  England." 

"  No,"  replied  the  daughter,  "  like  all  others  of  his  sex  he 
delights  in  keeping  the  ladies  in  suspense." 

"  What  you  say,  miss,  is  very  true,"  said  Aunt  Quiinby, 
leaning  in  her  turn  across  Mr.  Montague,  "  and,  considering 
how  young  you  are,  you  talk  very  sensibly.  Men  certainly 
have  a  way  of  keeping  women  in  suspense,  and  an  unwilling 
ness  to  answer  questions,  even  when  we  ask  them.  There's 
my  son-in-law,  Billy  Fairfowl,  that  I  live  with.  He  married 
my  daughter  Mary,  eleven  years  ago  the  23d  of  last  April. 
He's  as  good  a  man  as  ever  breathed,  and  an  excellent  pro 
vider  too.  He  always  goes  to  market  himself;  and  some 
times  I  can't  help  blaming  him  a  little  for  his  extravagance. 
But  his  greatest  fault  is  his  being  so  unsatisfactory.  As  far 
back  as  last  March,  as  I  was  sitting  at  my  knitting  in  the  little 
front  parlour  with  the  door  open  (for  it  was  quite  warm  weather 
for  the  time  of  the  year),  Billy  Fairfowl  came  home,  carrying 
in  his  hand  a  good  sized  shad;  and  I  called  out  to  him  to  ask 
what  he  gave  for  it,  for  it  was  the  very  beginning  of  the  shad 
season;  but  he  made  not  a  word  of  answer;  he  just  passed 
on,  and  left  the  shad  in  the  kitchen,  and  then  went  to  his 
store.  At  dinner  we  had  the  fish,  and  a  very  nice  one  it  was ; 
and  I  asked  him  again  how  much  he  gave  fur  it,  but  he  still 


MRS.  WASHINGTON   POTTS.  66 

avoided  answering,  and  began  to  talk  of  something  else; 
so  I  thought  Fd  let  it  rest  awhile.  A  week  or  two  after,  I 
again  asked  him ;  so  then  he  actually  said  he  had  forgotten 
all  about  it.  And  to  this  day  I  don't  know  the  price  of  that 
shad." 

The  Montagues  looked  at  each  other — almost  laughed  aloud, 
and  drew  back  their  chairs  as  far  from  Aunt  Quirnby  as  pos 
sible.  So  also  did  Mrs.  Potts.  Mrs.  Marsden  came  up  in  an 
agony  of  vexation,  and  reminded  her  aunt  in  a  low  voice  of  the 
risk  of  renewing  her  rheumatism  by  staying  so  long  between 
the  damp,  newly-papered  walls.  The  old  lady  answered  aloud 
— "  Oh !  you  need  not  fear,  I  am  well  wrapped  up  on  pur 
pose.  And  indeed,  considering  that  the  parlours  were  only 
papered  to-day,  I  think  the  walls  have  dried  wonderfully 
(putting  her  hand  on  the  paper) — I  am  sure  nobody  could  find 
out  the  damp  if  they  were  not  told." 

"  What !"  exclaimed  the  Montagues ;  "  only  papered  to-day 
— (starting  up  and  testifying  all  that  prudent  fear  of  taking 
cold,  so  characteristic  of  the  English).  How  barbarous  to  in 
veigle  us  into  such  a  place  !" 

"  I  thought  I  felt  strangely  chilly  all  the  evening,"  said 
Mrs.  Potts,  whose  fan  had  scarcely  been  at  rest  five  minutes. 

The  Montagues  proposed  going  away  immediately,  and  Mrs. 
Potts  declared  she  was  most  apprehensive  for  poor  little  La 
Fayettc.  Mrs.  Marsden,  who  could  not  endure  the  idea  of  their 
departing  till  all  the  refreshments  had  been  handed  round 
(the  best  being  yet  to  come),  took  great  pains  to  persuade 
them  that  there  was  no  real  cause  of  alarm,  as  she  had  had 
large  fires  all  the  afternoon.  They  held  a  whispered  consulta 
tion,  in  which  they  agreed  to  stay  for  the  oysters  and  chicken 
salad,  and  Mrs.  Marsden  went  out  to  send  them  their  shawls, 
with  one  for  La  Fayette. 

By  this  time  the  secret  of  the  newly-papered  walls  had 
spread  round  both  rooms ;  the  conversation  now  turned  en 
tirely  on  colds  and  rheumatisms ;  there  was  much  shivering 
and  considerable  coughing,  and  the  demand  for  shawls  in 
creased.  However,  nobody  actually  went  home  in  consequence. 

"  Papa,"  said  Miss  Montague,  "let  us  all  take  French  leave 
as  soon  as  the  oysters  and  chicken  salad  have  gone  round." 

Albiua  now  came  up  to  Aunt  Quimby  (gladly  perceiving 
that  the  old  lady  looked  tired),  and  proposed  that  she  should 
return  to  her  chamber,  assuring  her  that  the  waiters  should 
be  punctually  sent  up  to  her — "  I  do  not  feel  quite  ready  to 


34  MRS.  WASHINGTON   POTTS. 

go  yet,"  replied  Mrs.  Quimby.  "  I  am  very  well  here.  But 
you  need  not  mind  me.  Go  back  to  your  company,  and  talk 
a  little  to  those  three  poor  girls  in  the  yellow  frocks  that  no 
body  has  spoken  to  yet,  except  Bromley  Cheston.  When  I  am 
ready  to  go  I  shall  take  French  leave,  as  these  English  peo 
ple  call  it." 

But  Aunt  Quimby' s  idea  of  French  leave  was  very  different 
from  the  usual  acceptation  of  the  term;  for  having  always 
heard  that  the  French  were  a  very  polite  people,  she  con 
cluded  that  their  manner  of  taking  leave  must  be  particularly 
respectful  and  ceremonious.  Therefore,  having  paid  her  part 
ing  compliments  to  Mrs.  Potts  and  the  Montagues,  she  walked 
all  round  the  room,  curtsying  to  every  body  and  shaking 
hands,  and  telling  them  she  had  come  to  take  French  leave. 
To  put  an  end  to  this  ridiculous  scene,  Bromley  Cheston  (who 
had  been  on  assiduous  duty  all  the  evening)  now  came  forward, 
and,  taking  the  old  lady's  arm  in  his,  offered  to  escort  her  up 
stairs.  Aunt  Quimby  was  much  flattered  by  this  unexpected 
civility  from  the  finest-looking  young  man  in  the  room,  and 
she  smilingly  departed  with  him,  complimenting  him  on  his 
politeness,  and  assuring  him  that  he  was  a  real  gentleman ; 
trying  also  to  make  out  the  degree  of  relationship  that  existed 
between  them. 

"  So  much  for  Buckingham  !"  said  Cheston,  as  he  ran  down 
stairs  after  depositing  the  old  lady  at  the  door  of  her  room. 
"  Fools  of  all  ranks  and  of  all  ages  are  to  me  equally  intole 
rable.  I  never  can  marry  into  such  a  family." 

The  party  went  on. 

"  In  the  name  of  heaven,  Mrs.  Potts,"  said  Mrs.  Montague, 
"  what  induces  you  to  patronize  these  people  ?" 

"  Why  they  are  the  only  tolerable  persons  in  the  neighbour 
hood,"  answered  Mrs.  Potts,  "  and  very  kind  and  obliging  in 
their  way.  I  really  think  Albina  a  very  sweet  girl,  very  sweet 
indeed :  and  Mrs.  Marsden  is  rather  amiable  too,  quite  amiable. 
And  they  are  so  grateful  for  any  little  notice  I  take  of  them, 
that  it  is  really  quite  affecting.  Poor  things  !  how  much 
trouble  they  have  given  themselves  in  getting  up  this  party. 
They  look  as  if  they  had  had  a  hard  day's  work ;  and  I  have 
no  doubt  they  will  be  obliged,  in  consequence,  to  pinch  thcm- 
for  months  to  come ;  for  I  can  assure  you  their  means  are  very 
small — very  small  indeed.  As  to  this  intolerable  old  aunt, 
I  never  saw  her  before;  and  as  there  is  something  rather 
genteel  about  Mrs.  Marsden  and  her  daughter — rather  so  at 


MRS.  WASHINGTON  POTTS.  35 

least  about  Albina — I  did  not  suppose  they  had  any  such  rela 
tions  belonging  to  them.  I  think,  in  future  I  must  confine 
myself  entirely  to  the  aristocracy." 

"We  deliberated  to  the  last  moment,"  said  Mrs.  Montague, 
"  whether  we  should  come.  But  as  Mr.  Montague  is  going  to 
write  his  tour  when  we  return  to  England,  he  thinks  it  expe 
dient  to  make  some  sacrifices,  for  the  sake  of  seeing  the  varie 
ties  of  American  society." 

"  Oh  !  these  people  are  not  in  society !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Potts 
eagerly.  "I  can  assure  you  these  Marsdens  have  not  the 
slightest  pretensions  to  society.  Oh !  no — I  beg  you  not  to 
suppose  that  Mrs.  Marsden  and  her  daughter  are  at  all  in 
society !" 

This  conversation  was  overheard  by  Bromley  Cheston,  and 
it  gave  him  more  pain  than  he  was  willing  to  acknowledge, 
even  to  himself. 

At  length  all  the  refreshments  had  gone  their  rounds,  and 
the  Montagues  had  taken  real  French  leave ;  but  Mrs.  Wash 
ington  Potts  preferred  a  conspicuous  departure,  and  therefore 
made  her  adieux  with  a  view  of  producing  great  effect.  This 
was  the  signal  for  the  company  to  break  up,  and  Mrs.  Mars- 
den  gladly  smiled  them  out,  while  Albina  could  have  said 
with  Gray's  Prophetess — 

"Now  my  weary  lips  I  close, 
Leave  me,  leave  me  to  repose." 

But,  according  to  Mrs.  Marsden,  the  worst  of  all  was  the 
poet,  the  professedly  eccentric  Bewley  Garvin  Gandy,  author 
of  the  World  of  Sorrow,  Elegy  on  a  Broken  Heart,  Lines  on 
a  Suppressed  Sigh,  Sonnet  to  a  Hidden  Tear,  Stanzas  to  Faded 
Hopes,  &c.  &c.,  and  who  was  just  now  engaged  in  a  tale  called 
"  The  Bewildered,"  and  an  Ode  to  the  Waning  Moon,  which 
set  him  to  wandering  about  the  country,  and  "kept  him  out 
o'nights."  The  poet,  not  being  a  man  of  this  world,  did  not 
make  his  appearance  at  the  party  till  the  moment  of  the  bustle 
occasioned  by  the  exit  of  Mrs.  Washington  Potts.  He  then 
darted  suddenly  into  the  room,  and  looked  wild. 

We  will  not  insinuate  that  he  bore  any  resemblance  to 
Sandy  Clark.  He  certainly  wore  no  chapeau,  and  his  coat 
was  not  in  the  least  ti  la  militaire,  for  it  was  a  dusky  brown 
frock.  His  collar  was  open,  in  the  fashion  attributed  to  Byron, 
and  much  affected  by  scribblers  who  arc  incapable  of  imitating 
the  noble  bard  in  anything  but  his  follies.  His  hair  looked 
3* 


db  MRS.  WASHINGTON   POTTS. 

as  if  lie  had  just  been  tearing  it,  and  his  eyes  seemed  "in  a 
fine  frenzy  rolling/'  He  was  on  his  return  from  one  of  his 
moonlight  rambles  on  the  banks  of  the  river,  and  his  panta 
loons  and  coat-skirt  showed  evident  marks  of  having  been  deep 
among  the  cat-tails  and  splatter-docks  that  grew  in  the  mud 
on  its  margin. 

Being  a  man  that  took  no  note  of  time,  he  wandered  into 
Mrs.  Marsden's  house  between  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock,  and 
remained  an  hour  after  the  company  had  gone ;  reclining  at 
full  length  on  a  sofa,  and  discussing  Barry  Cornwall  and 
Percy  Bysshe  Shelley,  L.  E.  L.  and  Mrs.  Cornwall  Baron 
Wilson.  After  which  he  gradually  became  classical,  and 
poured  into  the  sleepy  ears  of  Mrs.  Marsden  and  Albina  a 
parallel  between  Tibullus  and  Propertius,  a  dissertation  on 
Alcseus,  and  another  on  Menander. 

Bromley  Cheston,  who  had  been  escorting  home  two  sets  of 
young  ladies  that  lived  "far  as  the  poles  asunder,"  passed 
Mrs.  Marsden's  house  on  returning  to  his  hotel,  and  seeing 
the  lights  still  gleaming,  he  went  in  to  see  what  was  the 
matter,  and  kindly  relieved  his  aunt  and  cousin  by  remind 
ing  the  poet  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  and  "  fairly  carrying 
him  off." 

Aunt  Quimby  had  long  since  been  asleep.  But  before  Mrs. 
Marsden  and  Albina  could  forget  themselves  in  "  tired  nature's 
sweet  restorer,"  they  lay  awake  for  an  hour,  discussing  the 
fatigues  and  vexations  of  the  day,  and  the  mortifications  of 
the  evening.  "  After  all,"  said  Albina,  "  this  party  has  cost 
us  five  times  as  much  as  it  is  worth,  both  in  trouble  and 
expense,  and  I  really  cannot  tell  what  pleasure  we  have  derived 
from  it." 

"  No  one  expects  pleasure  at  their  own  party,"  replied  Mrs. 
Marsden.  "But  you  may  depend  on  it,  this  little  compli 
ment  to  Mrs.  Washington  Potts  will  prove  highly  advantage 
ous  to  us  hereafter.  And  then  it  is  something  to  be  the  only 
family  in  the  neighbourhood  that  could  presume  to  do  such  a 
thing." 

Next  morning,  Bromley  Cheston  received  a  letter  which 
required  his  immediate  presence  in  New  York  on  business  of 
importance.  When  he  went  to  take  leave  of  his  aunt  and 
cousin,  he  found  them  busily  engaged  in  clearing  away  and 
putting  in  order;  a  task  which  is  nearly  equal  to  that  of 
making  the  preparations  for  a  party.  They  looked  pale  and 


MRS.  WASHINGTON   POTTS.  37 

spiritless,  and  Mrs.  Washington  Potts  had  just  sent  her  three 
boys  to  spend  the  day  with  them. 

When  Cheston  took  Albina' s  hand  at  parting,  he  felt  it 
tremble,  and  her  eyes  looked  as  if  they  were  filling  with  tears. 
"  After  all,"  thought  he,  "  she  is  a  charming  girl,  and  has  both 
sense  and  sensibility/' 

"  I  am  very  nervous  to-day/7  said  Albina,  "  the  party  has 
been  too  much  for  me ;  and  I  have  in  prospect  for  to-morrow 
the  pain  of  taking  leave  of  Mrs.  Washington  Potts,  who  returns 
with  all  her  family  to  Philadelphia." 

"  Strange  infatuation  V  thought  Cheston,  as  ho  dropped 
Albina' s  hand,  and  made  his  parting  bow.  "  I  must  see  more 
of  this  girl,  before  I  can  resolve  to  trust  my  happiness  to  her 
keeping  j  I  cannot  share  her  heart  with  Mrs.  Washington 
Potts.  When  I  return  from  New  York,  I  will  talk  to  her 
seriously  about  that  ridiculous  woman,  and  I  will  also  remon 
strate  with  her  mother  on  the  folly  of  straining  every  nerve  in 
the  pursuit  of  what  she  calls  a  certain  style." 

In  the  afternoon,  Mrs.  Potts  did  Albina  the  honour  to  send 
for  her  to  assist  in  the  preparations  for  to-morrow's  removal 
to  town ;  and  in  the  evening,  the  three  boys  were  all  taken 
home  sick,  in  consequence  of  having  laid  violent  hands  on  the 
fragments  of  the  feast :  which  fragments  they  had  continued 
during  the  day  to  devour  almost  without  intermission.  Also 
Randolph  had  thrown  Jefferson  down  stairs,  and  raised  two 
green  bumps  on  his  forehead,  and  Jefferson  had  pinched  La 
Fayette's  fingers  in  the  door  till  the  blood  came ;  not  to  men 
tion  various  minor  squabbles  and  hurts. 

At  parting,  Mrs.  Potts  went  so  far  as  to  kiss  Albina,  and 
made  her  promise  to  let  her  know  immediately,  whenever  she 
or  her  mother  came  to  the  city. 

In  about  two  weeks,  Aunt  Quhnby  finished  her  visitation  : 
arid  the  day  after  her  departure,  Mrs.  Marsdcn  and  Albina 
went  to  town  to  make  their  purchases  for  the  season,  and 
also  with  a  view  towards  a  party,  which  they  knew  Mrs.  Potts 
had  in  contemplation.  This  time  they  did  not,  as  usual,  stay 
with  their  relations,  but  they  took  lodgings  at  a  fashionable 
boarding-house,  where  they  could  receive  their  "  great  woman," 
comme  il  faut. 

On  the  morning  after  their  arrival,  Mrs.  Marsden  and  her 
daughter,  in  their  most  costly  dresses,  went  to  visit  Mrs.  Potts, 
that  she  might  be  apprised  of  their  arrival ;  and  they  found  her 
in  a  spacious  house,  expensively  and  ostentatiously  furnished. 


08  MRS.  WASHINGTON   POTTS. 

After  they  had  waited  till  even  their  patience  was  nearly 
exhausted,  Mrs.  Potts  came  down  stairs  to  them,  but  there 
was  evidently  a  great  abatement  in  her  affability.  She  seemed 
uneasy,  looked  frequently  towards  the  door,  got  up  several 
times  and  went  to  the  window,  and  appeared  fidgety  when  the 
bell  rung.  At  last  there  came  in  two  very  flaunting  ladies, 
whom  Mrs.  Potts  received  as  if  she  considered  them  people 
of  consequence.  They  were  not  introduced  to  the  Marsdens, 
who,  after  the  entrance  of  these  new  visitors,  sat  'awhile  in 
the  pitiable  situation  of  ciphers,  and  then  took  their  leave. 
"  Strange,"  said  Mrs.  Marsden,  "  that  she  did  not  say  a  word 
of  her  party." 

Three  days  after  their  visit,  Mrs.  Washington  Potts  left 
cards  for  Mrs.  and  Miss  Marsden,  without  inquiring  if  they 
were  at  home.  And  they  heard  from  report  that  her  party 
was  fixed  for  the  week  after  next,  and  that  it  was  expected  to 
be  very  splendid,  as  it  was  to  introduce  her  daughter,  who  had 
just  quitted  boarding-school.  The  Marsdens  had  seen  this 
young  lady,  who  had  spent  the  August  holidays  with  her  pa 
rents.  She  was  as  silly  as  her  mother,  and  as  dull  as  her 
father,  in  the  eyes  of  all  who  were  not  blindly  determined  to 
think  her  otherwise,  or  who  did  not  consider  it  particularly 
expedient  to  uphold  every  one  of  the  name  of  Potts. 

At  length  they  heard  that  the  invitations  were  going  out 
for  Mrs.  Potts' s  party,  and  that  though  very  large,  it  was  not 
to  be  general ;  which  meant  that  only  one  or  two  of  the  mem 
bers  were  to  be  selected  from  each  family  with  whom  Mrs. 
Potts  thought  proper  to  acknowledge  an  acquaintance.  From 
this  moment  Mrs.  Marsden,  who  at  the  best  of  times  had 
never  really  been  treated  with  much  respect  by  Mrs.  Potts, 
gave  up  all  hope  of  an  invitation  for  herself;  but  she  counted 
certainly  on  one  for  Albina,  and  every  ring  at  the  door  was 
expected  to  bring  it.  There  were  many  rings,  but  no  invita 
tion  ;  and  poor  Albina  and  her  mother  took  turns  in  watching 
at  the  window. 

At  last  Bogle*  was  seen  to  come  up  the  steps  with  a  hand 
ful  of  notes ;  and  Albina,  regardless  of  all  rule,  ran  to  the 
front-door  herself.  They  were  cards  for  a  party,  but  not  Mrs. 
Potts's,  and  were  intended  for  two  other  ladies  that  lodged  in 
the  house. 

Every  time  that  Albina  went  out  and  came  home,  she  in- 

*  A  celebrated  coloured  waiter  in  Philadelphia. 


MRS.  WASHINGTON    POTTS.  89 

quired  anxiously  of  all  the  servants  if  no  note  had  been  left 
for  her.  Still  there  was  none.  And  her  mother  still  insisted 
that  the  note  must  have  conic,  but  had  been  mislaid  after 
wards,  or  that  Bogle  had  lost  it  in  the  street. 

Wednesday,  Thursday,  Friday,  and  Saturday  passed  over, 
and  still  no  invitation.  Mrs.  Marsden  talked  much  of  the 
carelessness  of  servants,  and  had  no  doubt  of  the  habitual 
negligence  of  Messrs.  Bogle,  Shepherd,  and  other  "  fashiona 
ble  party-men/'  Albina  was  almost  sick  with  "  hope  defer 
red/'  At  last,  when  she  came  home  on  Monday  morning 
from  Second  street,  her  mother  met  her  at  the  door  with  a 
delighted  face,  and  showed  her  the  long-desired  note,  which 
had  just  been  brought  by  Mrs.  Potts's  own  man.  The  party 
was  to  take  place  in  two  days  :  and  so  great  was  now  Albina' s 
happiness,  that  she  scarcely  felt  the  fatigue  of  searching  the 
shops  for  articles  of  attire  that  were  very  elegant,  and  yet  not 
too  expensive ;  and  shopping  with  a  limited  purse  is  certainly 
no  trifling  exercise  both  of  mind  and  body ;  so  also  is  the  task 
of  going  round  among  fashionable  mantua-makers,  in  the  hope 
of  coaxing  one  of  them  to  undertake  a  dress  at  a  short  notice. 

Next  morning,  Mrs.  Potts  sent  for  Albina  immediately 
after  breakfast,  and  told  her  that  as  she  knew  her  to  be  very 
clever  at  all  sorts  of  things,  she  wanted  her  to  stay  that  day 
and  assist  in  the  preparations  for  the  next.  Mrs.  Potts,  like 
many  other  people  who  live  in  showy  houses  and  dress  extrava 
gantly,  was  very  economical  in  servants.  She  gave  such  low 
wages,  that  none  would  come  to  her  who  could  get  places  any 
where  else,  and  she  kept  them  on  such  limited  allowance  that 
none  would  stay  with  her  who  were  worth  having. 

Fools  are  seldom  consistent  in  their  expenditure.  They 
generally  (to  use  a  homely  expression)  strain  at  gnats  and 
swallow  camels. 

About  noon,  Albina  having  occasion  to  consult  Mrs.  Potts 
concerning  something  that  was  to  be  done,  found  her  in  the 
front  parlour  with  Mrs.  and  Miss  Montague.  After  Albina 
had  left  the  room,  Mrs.  Montague  said  to  Mrs.  Potts — "  Is 
not  that  the  girl  who  lives  with  her  mother  at  the  place  on  the 
river,  I  forget  what  you"  call  it — I  mean  the  niece  of  the 
aunt  ?" 

"  That  is  Albina  Marsden,"  replied  Mrs.  Potts. 

"  Yes/'  pursued  Mrs.  Montague,  "  the  people  that  made  so 
great  an  exertion  to  give  you  a  sort  of  party,  and  honoured 
Mr.  and  Miss  Montague  and  myself  with  invitations." 


40  MRS.  WASHINGTON  POTTS. 

"  She's  not  to  be  here  to-morrow  night,  I  hope  !"  exclaimed 
Miss  Montague. 

"  Really,"  replied  Mrs.  Potts,  "I  could  do  no  less  than  ask 
her.  The  poor  thing  did  her  very  best  to  be  civil  to  us  all 
last  summer." 

"  Oh  !"  said  Mrs.  Montague,  "  in  the  country  one  is  willing 
sometimes  to  take  up  with  such  company  as  we  should  be  very 
sorry  to  acknowledge  in  town.  You  assured  me  that  your 
party  to-morrow  night  would  be  extremely  recherche.  And 
as  it  is  so  early  in  the  season  you  know  that  it  is  necessary 
to,  be  more  particular  now  than  at  the  close  of  the  campaign, 
when  every  one  is  tired  of  parties,  and  unwilling  to  get  new 
evening  dresses  lest  they  should  be  out  of  fashion  before  they 
are  wanted  again.  Excuse  me,  I  speak  only  from  what  I  have 
heard  of  American  customs." 

"  I  am  always  particular  about  my  parties,"  said  Mrs.  Potts. 

"  A  word  in  your  ear,"  continued  Mrs.  Montague.  "Is  it 
not  impolitic,  or  rather  are  you  not  afraid  to  bring  forward  so 
beautiful  a  girl  as  this  Miss  Martin  on  the  very  night  of  your 
own  daughter's  debut  ?" 

Mrs.  Potts  looked  alarmed  for  a  moment,  and  then  recover 
ing  herself  said — "  I  have  no  fear  of  Miss  Harriet  Angelina 
Potts  being  thrown  in  the  shade  by  a  little  country  girl  like 
this.  Albina  Marsden  is  pretty  enough,  to  be  sure — at  least, 
rather  pretty — but  then  there  is  a  certain  style — a  certain  air 
which  she  of  course — in  short,  a  certain  style — " 

"As  to  what  you  call  a  certain  style,"  said  Mrs.  Montague, 
"I  do  not  know  exactly  what  you  mean.  If  it  signifies  the 
air  and  manner  of  a  lady,  this  Miss  Martin  has  as  much  of  it 
as  any  other  American  girl.  To  me  they  are  all  nearly  alike. 
I  cannot  distinguish  those  minute  shades  of  difference  that 
you  all  make  such  a  point  of.  In  my  unpractised  eyes  the 
daughters  of  your  mechanics  and  shopkeepers  look  as  well  and 
behave  as  well  as  the  daughters  of  your  lawyers  and  doctors, 
for  I  find  your  nobility  is  chiefly  made  up  of  these  two  pro 
fessions,  with  the  addition  of  a  few  merchants ;  and  you  caM 
every  one  a  merchant  that  does  not  sell  his  commodities  by 
the  single  yard  or  the  single  quart." 

"  Mamma,"  whispered  Miss  Montague,  "  if  that  girl  is  to 
be  here,  I  don't  wish  to  come.  I  can't  endure  her." 

"  Take  my  advice,"  continued  Mrs.  Montague  to  Mrs.  Potts, 
"  and  put  off  this  Miss  Martin.  If  she  was  not  so  strikingly 
handsome,  she  might  pass  unnoticed  in  the  crowd.  But  her 


MRS.  WASHINGTON   POTTS.  41 

beauty  will  attract  general  observation,  and  you  will  be  obliged 
to  tell  exactly  who  she  is,  where  you  picked  her  up,  and  to 
give  or  to  hear  an  account  of  her  family  and  all  her  connex 
ions  ;  and  from  the  specimen  we  have  had  in  the  old  aunt,  I 
doubt  if  they  will  bear  a  very  minute  scrutiny.  So  if  she  is 
invited,  endeavour  to  uninvite  her." 

"  I  am  sure  I  would  willingly  do  that/'  replied  Mrs.  Potts, 
"  but  I  can  really  think  of  no  excuse." 

"  Oh !  send  her  a  note  to-morrow,"  answered  Mrs.  Montague, 
carelessly,  and  rising  to  depart,  "  anything  or  nothing,  so  that 
you  only  signify  to  her  that  she  is  not  to  come." 

All  day  Mrs.  Potts  was  revolving  in  her  mind  the  most 
feasible  means  of  preventing  Albina  from  appearing  at  her 
party ;  and  her  conscience  smote  her  when  she  saw  the  un 
suspecting  girl  so  indefatigable  in  assisting  with  the  prepara 
tions.  Before  Albina  went  home,  Mrs.  Potts  had  come  to  the 
conclusion  to  follow  Mrs.  Montague's  advice,  but  she  shrunk 
from  the  task  of  telling  her  so  in  person.  She  determined  to 
send  her  next  morning  a  concise  note,  politely  requesting  her 
not  to  come ;  and  she  intended  afterwards  to  call  on  her  and 
apologize,  on  the  plea  of  her  party  being  by  no  means  general, 
but  still  so  large  that  every  inch  of  room  was  an  object  of  im 
portance  ;  also  that  the  selection  consisted  entirely  of  persons 
well  known  to  each  other  and  accustomed  to  meet  in  company, 
and  that  there  was  every  reason  to  fear  that  her  gentle  and 
modest  friend  Albina  would  have  been  unable  to  enjoy  her 
self  among  so  many  strangers,  &c.,  &c.  These  excuses,  she 
knew,  were  very  flimsy,  but  she  trusted  to  Albina' s  good 
nature,  and  she  thought  she  could  smooth  off  all  by  inviting 
both  her  and  her  mother  to  a  sociable  tea. 

Next  morning,  Mrs.  Potts,  who  was  on  no  occasion  very 
ready  with  her  pen,  considering  that  she  professed  to  be  au 
fait,  to  everything,  employed  near  an  hour  in  manufacturing 
the  following  note  to  Albina. 

"Mrs.  Washington  Potts'  compliments  to  Miss  Marsden, 
and  she  regrets  being  under  the  necessity  of  dispensing  with 
Miss  M/s  company,  to  join  the  social  circle  at  her  mansion- 
house  this  evening.  Mrs.  W.  P.  will  explain  hereafter,  hop 
ing  Mrs.  and  Miss  M.  are  both  well.  Mr.  W.  P.  requests  his 
respects  to  both  ladies,  as  well  as  Miss  Potts,  and  their  favourite 
little  La  Fayette  desires  his  best  love." 

This  billet  arrived  while  Albina  had  gone  to  her  mantua- 
makcr,  to  have  her  new  dress  fitted  on  for  the  last  time.  Her 


42  MRS.  WASHINGTON   POTTS. 

mother  opened  the  note  and  read  it ;  a  liberty  which  no  parent 
should  take  with  the  correspondence  of  a  grown-up  daughter. 
Mrs.  Marsden  was  shocked  at  its  contents,  and  at  a  loss  to 
guess  the  motive  of  so  strange  an  interdiction.  At  first  her 
only  emotion  was  resentment  against  Mrs.  Potts.  Then  she 
thought  of  the  disappointment  and  mortification  of  poor  Albina. 
whom  she  pictured  to  herself  passing  a  forlorn  evening  at 
home,  perhaps  crying  in  her  own  room.  Next,  she  recollected 
the  elegant  new  dress  in  which  Albina  would  have  looked  so 
beautifully,  and  which  would  now  be  useless. 

"  Oh  I"  soliloquized  Mrs.  Marsden,  "  what  a  pity  this  un 
accountable  note  was  not  dropped  and  lost  in  the  street.  But 
then,  of  course  some  one  would  have  found  and  read  it,  and 
that  would  have  been  worse  than  all.  How  could  Mrs.  Potts 
be  guilty  of  such  abominable  rudeness,  as  to  desire  poor 
Albina  not  to  come,  after  she  had  been  invited  ?  But  great 
people  think  they  may  do  anything.  I  wish  the  note  had 
fallen  into  the  fire  before  it  came  to  my  hands ;  then  Albina 
would  have  known  nothing  of  it ;  she  would  have  gone  to  the 
party,  looking  more  charmingly  than  ever  she  did  in  her  life ; 
and  she  would  be  seen  there,  and  admired,  and  make  new 
acquaintances,  and  Mrs.  Potts  could  do  no  otherwise  than 
behave  to  her  politely  in  her  own  house.  Nobody  would  know 
of  this  vile  billet  (which  perhaps  after  all  is  only  a  joke),  and 
Mrs.  Potts  would  suppose,  that  of  course  Albina  had  not 
received  it ;  besides,  I  have  no  doubt  that  Mrs.  Potts  will  send 
for  her  to-morrow,  and  make  a  satisfactory  explanation.  But 
then,  to-night ;  if  Albina  could  but  get  there  to-night.  What 
harm  can  possible  arrive  from  my  not  showing  her  the  note 
till  to-morrow  ?  Why  should  the  dear  girl  be  deprived  of  all 
the  pleasure  she  anticipated  this  evening  ?  And  even  if  she 
expected  no  enjoyment  whatever,  still  how  great  will  be  the 
advantage  of  having  her  seen  at  Mrs.  Washington  Potts' s  select 
party ;  it  will  at  once  get  her  on  in  the  world.  Of  course  Mrs. 
Potts  will' conclude  that  the  note  had  miscarried,  and  will  treat 
her  as  if  it  had  never  bee*1  sent.  I  am  really  most  strongly 
tempted  to  suppress  it,  and  let  Albina  go/7 

The  more  Mrs.  Marsden  thought  of  this  project,  the  less 
objectionable  it  appeared  to  her.  When  she  saw  Albina  come 
home,  delighted  with  her  new  dress,  which  fitted  her  exactly, 
and  when  she  heard  her  impatiently  wishing  that  evening  was 
come,  this  weak  and  ill-judging  mother  could  not  resolve  (as 
she  afterwards  said)  to  dash  all  her  pleasant  anticipations  to 


MRS.  WASHINGTON   POTTS.  43 

the  ground,  and  demolish  her  castles  in  she  air.  "  My  daugh 
ter  shall  be  happy  to-night/;  thought  she,  "  whatever  may  be 
the  event  of  to-morrow."  She  hastily  concealed  the  note,  and 
kept  her  resolution  of  not  mentioning  it  to  Albina. 

Evening  came,  and  Albina' s  beautiful  hair  was  arranged  and 
decorated  by  a  fashionable  French  barber.  She  was  dressed, 
and  she  looked  charmingly. 

Albina  knew  that  Mrs.  Potts  had  sent  an  invitation  to  the 
United  States  Hotel  for  Lieutenant  Cheston,  who  was  daily 
expected,  but  had  not  yet  returned  from  New  York,  and  she 
regretted  much  that  she  could  not  go  to  the  party  under  his 
escort.  She  knew  no  one  else  of  the  company,  and  she  had 
no  alternative  but  to  send  for  a  carriage,  and  proceeded  thither 
by  herself,  after  her  mother  had  despatched  repeated  messages 
to  the  hotel  to  know  if  Mr.  Cheston  had  yet  arrived,  for  he 
was  certainly  expected  back  that  evening. 

As  Albina  drove  to  the  house,  she  felt  all  the  terrors  of 
diffidence  coming  upon  her,  and  already  repented  that  she  had 
ventured  on  this  enterprise  alone.  On  arriving,  she  did  not 
go  into  the  ladies'  room,  but  gave  her  hood  and  cloak  at  once 
to  a  servant,  and  tremulously  requested  another  attendant  to 
inform  Mr.  Potts  that  a  lady  wished  to  see  him.  Mr.  Potts 
accordingly  came  out  into  the  hall,  and  looked  surprised  at 
finding  Albina  there,  for  he  had  heard  his  wife  and  daughter 
talking  of  the  note  of  interdiction.  But  concluding,  as  he 
often  did,  that  it  was  in  vain  for  him  to  try  to  comprehend 
the  proceedings  of  women,  he  thought  it  best  to  say  nothing. 

On  Albina  requesting  him  to  accompany  her  on  her  en 
trance,  he  gave  her  his  arm  in  silence,  and  with  a  very  per- 
lexed  face  escorted  her  into  the  principal  room.  As  he  led 
er  up  to  his  wife,  his  countenance  gradually  changed  from 
perplexity  to  something  like  fright.  Albina  paid  her  com 
pliments  to  Mrs.  Potts,  who  received  her  with  evident  amaze 
ment,  and  without  replying.  Mrs.  Montague,  who  sat  next 
to  the  lady  of  the  mansion,  opened  still  wider  her  immense 
eyes,  and  then,  "to  make  assurance  doubly  sure,"  applied  her 
opera-glass.  Miss  Montague  first  stared  and  then  laughed. 

Albina,  much  disconcerted,  turned  to  look  for  a  scat,  Mr. 
Potts  having  withdrawn  his  arm.  As  she  retired  to  the  only 
vacant  chair,  she  heard  a  half  whisper  running  along  the  line 
of  ladies,  and  though  she  could  not  distinguish  the  words  so 
as  to  make  any  connected  sense  of  them,  she  felt  that  they 
alluded  to  her. 
4 


i; 


44  MRS.  WASHINGTON   POTTS. 

"  Can  I  believe  my  eyes  ?"  said  Mrs.  Potts. 

"The  assurance  of  American  girls  is  astonishing/'  said 
Mrs.  Montague. 

"  She  was  forbidden  to  come/'  said  Miss  Montague  to  a 
young  lady  beside  her.  "  Mrs.  Potts  herself  forbade  her  to 
come/' 

"She  was  actually  prohibited/'  resumed  Mrs.  Montague, 
leaning  over  to  Mrs.  Jones. 

"  I  sent  her  myself  a  note  of  prohibition/'  said  Mrs.  Potts, 
leaning  over  to  Mrs.  Smith.  "I  had  serious  objections  to 
having  her  here." 

"I  never  saw  such  downright  impudence/'  pursued  Mrs. 
Montague.  "This  I  suppose  is  one  of  the  consequences  of 
the  liberty,  and  freedom  and  independence  that  you  Americans 
are  always  talking  about.  I  must  tell  Mr.  Montague,  for 
really  this  is  too  good  to  lose." 

And  beckoning  her  husband  to  come  to  her — "  My  dear/' 
said  she,  "put  down  in  your  memorandum-book,  that  when 
American  married  ladies  invite  young  ladies  to  parties,  they 
on  second  thoughts  forbid  them  to  come,  and  that  the  said 
American  young  ladies  boldly  persist  in  coming  in  spite  of  the 
forbiddance." 

And  she  then  related  to  him  the  whole  affair,  at  full  length, 
and  with  numerous  embellishments,  looking  all  the  time  at 
poor  Albina. 

The  story  was  soon  circulated  round  the  room  in  whispers 
and  murmurs,  and  no  one  had  candour  or  kindness  to  suggest 
the  possibility  of  Miss  Marsden's  having  never  received  the 
note. 

Albina  soon  perceived  herself  to  be  an  object  of  remark 
and  animadversion,  and  she  was  sadly  at  a  loss  to  divine  the 
cause.  The  two  ladies  that  were  nearest  to  her,  rose  up  and 
left  their  scats,  while  two  others  edged  their  chairs  farther  off. 
She  knew  no  one,  she  was  introduced  to  no  one,  but  she  saw 
that  every  one  was  looking  at  her  as  she  sat  by  herself,  alone, 
conspicuous,  and  abashed.  Tea  was  wailing  for  a  lady  that 
came  always  last,  and  the  whole  company  seemed  to  have 
leisure  to  gaze  on  poor  Albina,  and  to  whisper  about  her. 

Her  situation  now  became  intolerable.  She  felt  that  there 
was  nothing  left  for  her  but  to  go  home.  Unluckily  she  had 
ordered  the  carriage  at  eleven  o'clock.  At  last  she  resolved 
on  making  a  great  effort,  and  on  plea  of  a  violent  head-ache  (a 


MRS.  WASHINGTON   POTTS.  45 

pica  winch  by  this  time  was  literally  true)  to  ask  Mrs.  Potts 
if  she  would  allow  a  servant  to  bring  a  coach  for  her. 

After  several  attempts,  she  rose  for  this  purpose ;  but  she 
saw  at  the  same  moment  that  all  eyes  were  turned  upon  her. 
She  tremblingly,  and  with  downcast  looks,  advanced  till  she 
got  into  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  then  all  her  courage 
deserted  her  at  once,  when  she  heard  some  one  say,  (t  I  won 
der  what  she  is  going  to  do  next." 

She  stopped  suddenly,  and  stood  motionless,  and  she  saw 
Miss  Potts  giggle,  and  heard  her  say  to  a  school-girl  near  her, 
"I  suppose  she  is  going  to  speak  a  speech."  She  turned  very 
pale,  and  felt  as  if  she  could  gladly  sink  into  the  floor,  when 
suddenly  some  one  took  her  hand,  and  the  voice  of  Bromley 
Cheston  said  to  her,  "  Albina— Miss  Marsden — I  will  con 
duct  you  wherever  you  wish  to  go" — and  then,  lowering  his 
tone,  he  asked  her,  "  Why  this  agitation — what  has  happened 
to  distress  you  ?" 

Cheston  had  just  arrived  from  New  York,  having  been  de 
tained  on  the  way  by  an  accident  that  happened  to  one  of  the 
boats,  and  finding  that  Mrs.  Marsden  was  in  town,  and  had 
that  day  sent  several  messages  for  him,  he  repaired  immedi 
ately  to  her  lodgings.  He  had  intended  declining  the  invita 
tion  of  Mrs.  Potts,  but  when  he  found  that  Albina  had  gone 
thither,  he  hastily  changed  his  dress  and  went  to  the  party. 
When  he  entered,  what  was  his  amazement  to  see  her  stand 
ing  alone  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  and  the  company  whis 
pering  and  gazing  at  her. 

Albina,  on  hearing  the  voice  of  a  friend,  the  voice  of 
Bromley  Cheston,  was  completely  overcome,  and  she  covered 
her  face  and  burst  into  tears.  "  Albina,"  said  Cheston,  "I 
will  not  now  ask  an  explanation ;  I  see  that,  whatever  may 
have  happened,  you  had  best  go  home." 

"  Oh !  most  gladly,  most  thankfully,"  she  exclaimed,  in  a 
voice  almost  inarticulate  with  sobs. 

Cheston  drew  her  arm  within  his,  and  bowing  to  Mrs.  Potts, 
he  led  Aibina  out  of  the  apartment,  and  conducted  her  to  the 
staircase,  whence  she  went  to  the  ladies'  room  to  compose  her 
self  a  little,  and  prepare  for  her  departure. 

Cheston  then  sent  one  servant  for  a  carriage,  and  another 
to  tell  Mr.  Potts  that  he  desired  to  speak  with  him  in  the  hall. 
Potts  came  out  with  a  pale,  frightened  face,  and  said — "  In 
deed,  sir — indeed,  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  it;  ask  the  women. 


46  MRS.  WASHINGTON   POTTS. 

It  was  all  them  entirely.     It  was  the  women  that  laughed  at 
Miss  Albina,  and  whispered  about  her." 

"  For  what  ?"  demanded  the  lieutenant.  ll  I  insist  on  know 
ing  for  what  cause/' 

"  Why,  sir,"  replied  Potts,  "  she  came  here  to  my  wife's 
party,  after  Mrs.  Potts  had  sent  a  note  desiring  her  to  stay 
away ;  which  was  certainly  an  odd  thing  for  a  young  lady  to 
do." 

"There  is  some  mistake,"  exclaimed  Cheston;  "I'll  stake 
my  life  that  she  never  saw  the  note.  And  now,  for  what  rea 
son  did  Mrs.  Potts  write  such  a  note  ?  How  did  she  dare — " 

"  Oh  !"  replied  Potts,  stammering  and  hesitating,  "  women 
will  have  their  notions ;  men  are  not  half  so  particular  about 
their  company.  Somehow,  after  Mrs.  Potts  had  invited  Miss 
Albina,  she  thought,  on  farther  consideration,  that  poor  Miss 
Albina  was  not  quite  genteel  enough  for  her  party.  You 
know  all  the  women  now  make  a  great  point  of  being  genteel. 
But,  indeed,  sir  (observing  the  storm  that  was  gathering  on 
Cheston's  brow),  indeed,  sir — /was  not  in  the  least  to  blame. 
It  was  altogether  the  fault  of  my  wife." 

The  indignation  of  the  lieutenant  was  so  highly  excited, 
that  nothing  could  have  checked  it  but  the  recollection  that 
Potts  was  in  his  own  house.  At  this  moment,  Albina  came 
down  stairs,  and  Cheston  took  her  hand  and  said  to  her  : 
"  Albina,  did  you  receive  a  note  from  Mrs.  Potts  interdicting 
your  presence  at  the  party  ?" — "  Oh  !  no,  indeed  !"  exclaimed 
Albina,  amazed  at  the  question.  "  Surely  she  did  not  send 
me  such  a  note." — "  Yes  she  did,  though,"  said  Potts,  quickly. 
— "  Is  it,  then,  necessary  for  me  to  say,"  said  Albiua,  indig 
nantly,  "  that,  under  those  circumstances,  nothing  could  have 
induced  me  to  enter  this  house,  now  or  ever  !  I  saw  or  heard 
nothing  of  this  note.  And  is  this  the  reason  that  I  have  been 
treated  so  rudely — so  cruelly — " 

Upon  this,  Mr.  Potts  made  his  escape,  and  Cheston,  having 
put  Albina  into  the  carriage,  desired  the  coachman  to  wait  a 
few  moments.  He  then  returned  to  the  drawing-room  and 
approached  Mrs.  Potts,  who  was  standing  with  half  the  com 
pany  collected  round  her,  and  explaining  with  great  volubility 
the  whole  history  of  Albina  Marsden.  On  the  appearance  of 
Cheston,  she  stopped  short,  and  all  her  auditors  looked  foolish. 
The  young  officer  advanced  into  the  centre  of  the  circle, 
and,  first  addressing  Mrs.  Potts,  he  said  to  her — "In  justice 


MRS.  WASHINGTON    POTTS.  47 

to  Miss  Marsden,  I  have  returned,  madam,  to  inform  you  that 
your  note  of  interdiction,  with  which  you  have  so  kindly  made 
all  the  company  acquainted,  was  till  this  moment  unknown  to 
that  young  lady.  But,  even  had  she  come  wilfully,  and  in  the 
full  knowledge  of  your  prohibition,  no  circumstances  whatever 
could  justify  the  rudeness  with  which  I  find  she  has  been 
treated.  I  have  now  only  to  say  that,  if  any  gentleman  pre 
sumes,  either  here  or  hereafter,  to  cast  a  reflection  on  the 
conduct  of  Miss  Albina  Marsden,  in  this  or  in  any  other  in 
stance,  he  must  answer  to  me  for  the  consequences.  And  if 
I  find  that  any  lady  has  invidiously  misrepresented  this  occur 
rence,  I  shall  insist  on  an  atonement  from  her  husband,  her 
brother,  or  her  admirer." 

He  then  bowed  and  departed,  and  the  company  looked  still 
more  foolish. 

"This  lesson/'  thought  Cheston,  "will  have  the  salutary 
effect  of  curing  Albina  of  her  predominant  follies.  She  is  a 
lovely  girl,  after  all,  and  when  withdrawn  from  the  influence 
of  her  mother,  will  make  a  charming  woman  and  an  excellent 
wife." 

Before  the  carriage  stopped  at  the  residence  of  Mrs.  Mars 
den,  Cheston  had  made  Albina  an  offer  of  his  heart  and  hand, 
and  the  offer  was  not  refused. 

Mrs.  Marsden  was  scarcely  surprised  at  the  earliness  of 
Albina' s  return  from  the  party,  for  she  had  a  secret  misgiving 
that  all  was  not  right,  that  the  suppression  of  the  note  would 
not  eventuate  well,  and  she  bitterly  regretted  having  done  it. 
"When  her  daughter  related  to  her  the  story  of  the  evening, 
Mrs.  Marsden  was  overwhelmed  with  compunction ;  and, 
though  Cheston  was  present,  she  could  not  refrain  from  ac 
knowledging  at  once  her  culpability,  for  it  certainly  deserved 
no  softer  name.  Cheston  and  Albina  were  shocked  at  this 
disclosure ;  but,  in  compassion  to  Mrs.  Marsden,  they  forbore 
to  add  to  her  distress  by  a  single  comment.  Cheston  shortly 
after  took  his  leave,  saying  to  Albina  as  he  departed,  "  I  hope 
you  are  done  for  ever  with  Mrs.  Washington  Potts." 

Next  morning,  Cheston  seriously  but  kindly  expostulated 
with  Albina  and  her  mother  on  the  folly  and  absurdity  of 
sacrificing  their  comfort,  their  time,  their  money,  and,  indeed, 
their  self-respect,  to  the  paltry  distinction  of  being  capriciously 
noticed  by  a  few  vain,  silly,  heartless  people,  inferior  to  them 
selves  in  everything  but  in  wealth  and  in  a  slight  tincture  of 
4* 


48  MRS.  WASHINGTON    POTTS. 

soi-disant  fashion ;  and  who,  after  all,  only  took  them  on  or 
threw  them  off  as  it  suited  their  own  convenience. 

"What  you  say  is  very  true,  Bromley,"  replied  Mrs.  Mars- 
den.  "I  begin  to  view  these  things  in  their  proper  light,  and 
as  Albina  remarks,  we  ought  to  profit  by  this  last  lesson.  To 
tell  the  exact  truth,  I  have  heard  since  I  came  to  town  that 
Mrs.  Washington  Potts  is,  after  all,  by  no  means  in  the  first 
circle,  and  it  is  whispered  that  she  and  her  husband  are  both 
of  very  low  origin." 

"No  matter  for  her  circle  or  her  origin/7  said  Cheston,  "in 
our  country  the  only  acknowledged  distinction  should  be  that 
which  is  denoted  by  superiority  of  mind  and  manners." 

Next  day  Lieutenant  Cheston  escorted  Mrs.  Marsden  and 
Albina  back  to  their  own  home — and  a  week  afterwards  he 
was  sent  unexpectedly  on  a  cruise  in  the  West  Indies. 

He  returned  in  the  spring,  and  found  Mrs.  Marsden  more 
rational  than  he  had  ever  known  her,  and  Albina  highly  im 
proved  by  a  judicious  course  of  reading  which  he  had  marked 
out  for  her,  and  still  more  by  her  intimacy  with  a  truly  genteel, 
highly  talented,  and  very  amiable  family  from  the  eastward, 
who  had  recently  bought  a  house  in  the  village,  and  in  whose 
society  she  often  wondered  at  the  infatuation  which  had  led 
her  to  fancy  such  a  woman  as  Mrs.  Washington  Potts,  with 
whom,  of  course,  she  never  had  any  farther  communication. 

A  recent  and  very  large  bequest  to  Bromley  Cheston  from 
a  distant  relation,  made  it  no  longer  necessary  that  the  young 
lieutenant  should  wait  for  promotion  before  he  married  Albina; 
and  accordingly  their  union  took  place  immediately  on  his 
return. 

Before  the  Montagues  left  Philadelphia  to  prosecute  their 
journey  to  the  south,  there  arrived  an  acquaintance  of  theirs 
from  England,  who  injudiciously  "told  the  secrets  of  his 
prison-house,"  and  made  known  in  whispers  "not  loud  but 
deep,"  that  Mr.  Dudley  Montague,  of  Normancourt  Park, 
Hants,  (alias  Mr.  John  Wilkins,  of  Lamb's  Conduit  Street, 
Clerkenwell),  had  long  been  well-known  in  London  as  a  re 
porter  for  a  newspaper ;  that  he  had  recently  married  a  widow, 
the  ci-devant  governess  of  a  Somers  Town  Boarding-school, 
who  had  drawn  her  ideas  of  fashionable  life  from  the  columns 
of  the  Morning  Post,  and  who  famished  her  pupils  so  much  to 
her  own  profit  that  she  had  been  able  to  retire  on  a  sort  of 
fortune.  With  the  assistance  of  this  fund,  she  and  her  daughter 
(the  young  lady  was  in  reality  the  offspring  of  her  pother's 


MRS.  WASHINGTON   POTTS.  49 

first  marriage)  had  accompanied  Mr.  "Wilkins  across  the  At 
lantic  :  all  three  assuming  the  lordly  name  of  Montague,  as 
one  well  calculated  to  strike  the  republicans  with  proper  awe. 
The  truth  was,  that  for  a  suitable  consideration  proffered  by  a 
tory  publisher,  the  soi-disant  Mr.  Montague  had  undertaken 
to  add  another  octavo  to  the  numerous  volumes  of  gross  mis 
representation  and  real  ignorance  that  profess  to  contain  an 
impartial  account  of  the  United  States  of  America. 


MR.   SMITH. 


THOSE  of  my  readers  who  recollect  the  story  of  Mrs.  Wash 
ington  Potts,  may  not  be  sorry  to  learn  that  in  less  than  two 
years  after  the  marriage  of  Bromley  Cheston  and  Albina,  Mrs. 
Marsden  was  united  to  a  southern  planter  of  great  wealth  and 
respectability,  with  whom  she  had  become  acquainted  during 
a  summer  excursion  to  Newport.  Mrs.  Selbourne  (that  being 
her  new  name)  was  now,  as  her  letters  denoted,  completely  in 
her  element,  presiding  over  a  large  establishment,  mistress  of 
twelve  house-servants,  and  almost  continually  engaged  in  doing 
the  honours  of  a  spacious  mansion  to  a  round  of  company,  or 
in  complying  with  similar  invitations  from  the  leading  people 
of  a  populous  neighbourhood,  or  in  reciprocating  visits  with 
the  most  fashionable  inhabitants  of  the  nearest  city.  Her  only 
regret  was  that  Mrs.  Washington  Potts  could  not  "  be  there 
to  see."  But  then  as  a  set-off,  Mrs.  Selbourne  rejoiced  in  the 
happy  reflection,  that  a  distance  of  several  hundred  miles  placed 
a  great  gulf  between  herself  and  Aunt  Quiniby,  from  whose- 
Vandal  incursions  she  now  felt  a  delightful  sense  of  security. 
She  was  not,  however,  like  most  of  her  compatriots,  a  warm 
advocate  for  the  universal  diffusion  of  railroads ;  neither  did 
she  assent  very  cordially  to  the  common  remarks  about  this 
great  invention,  annihilating  both  time  and  space,  and  bring 
ing  "  the  north  and  the  south,  and  the  east  and  the  west" 
into  the  same  neighbourhood. 

Bromley  Cheston,  having  succeeded  to  a  handsome  inherit 
ance  by  the  demise  of  an  opulent  relative,  in  addition  to  his 
house  in  Philadelphia,  purchased  as  a  summer  residence  that 
of  his  mother-in-law  on  the  banks  of  the  Delaware,  greatly 
enlarging  and  improving  it,  and  adding  to  its  little  domain 
(50) 


MR.  SMITH.  51 


some  meadow  and  woodland ;  also  a  beautiful  piece  of  ground 
which  he  converted  into  a  green  lawn  sloping  down  towards  the 
river,  and  bounded  on  one  side  by  a  shady  road  that  led  to  a 
convenient  landing-place. 

The  happiness  of  Albina  and  her  husband  (who  in  the  re 
gular  course  of  promotion  became  Captain  Cheston)  was  much 
increased  by  the  society  of  Bromley's  sister  Myrtilla,  a  beau 
tiful,  sprightly,  and  intelligent  girl,  whom  they  invited  to  live 
with  them  after  the  death  of  her  maternal  grandmother,  an 
eastern  lady,  with  whom  she  had  resided  since  the  loss  of  her 
parents,  and  who  had  left  her  a  little  fortune  of  thirty  thousand 
dollars. 

Their  winters  were  passed  in  Philadelphia,  where  Albina 
found  herself  quite  at  home  in  a  circle  far  superior  to  that  of 
Mrs.  Washington  Potts,  who  was  one  of  the  first  to  visit  Mrs. 
Cheston  on  her  marriage.  This  visit  was  of  course  received 
with  civility,  but  returned  by  merely  leaving  a  card  at  the  door. 
No  notice  whatever  was  taken  of  Mrs.  Potts's  second  call; 
neither  was  she  ever  invited  to  the  house. 

When  Cheston  was  not  at  sea,  little  was  wanting  to  com 
plete  the  perfect  felicity  of  the  family.  It  is  true  they  were 
not  entirely  exempt  from  the  occasional  annoyances  and  petty 
vexations,  inseparable  from  even  the  happiest  state  of  human 
life ;  but  these  were  only  transient  shadows,  that,  on  passing 
away,  generally  served  as  topics  of  amusement,  and  caused 
them  to  wonder  how  trifles,  diverting  in  the  recollection,  could 
have  really  so  troubled  them  at  the  time  of  occurrence.  Such, 
for  instance,  were  the  frequent  visitations  of  Mrs.  Quimby, 
who  told  them  (after  they  had  enlarged  their  villa,  and  bought 
a  carriage  and  a  tilbury),  "Really,  good  people,  now  that 
things  are  all  so  genteel,  and  pleasant,  and  full-handed,  I 
think  I  shall  be  apt  to  favour  you  with  my  company  the 
greatest  part  of  every  summer.  .  There's  no  danger  of  Billy 
Fairfowl  and  Mary  being  jealous.  They  always  let  me  go  and 
come  just  as  I  please ;  and  if  I  was  to  stay  away  ten  years,  I 
do  not  believe  they'd  be  the  least  affronted." 

As  the  old  lady  had  intimated,  her  visits,  instead  of  being 
"few  and  far  between,"  were  many  and  close  together.  It  is 
said  you  may  get  used  to  anything,  and  therefore  the  Chestons 
did  not  sell  off  their  property  and  fly  the  country  on  account 
of  Aunt  Quimby.  Luckily  she  never  brought  with  her  any 
of  the  Fairfowl  family,  her  son-in-law  having  sufficient  tact  to 
avoid  on  principle  all  visiting  intercourse  with  people  who 


52  &R.  SMITH. 

wore  beyond  his  sphere :  for,  though  certain  of  being  kindly 
treated  by  the  Chestons  themselves,  he  apprehended  that  he 
and  his  would  probably  be  looked  down  upon  by  persons  whom 
they  might  chance  to  meet  there.  Mrs.  Quimby,  for  her  part, 
was  totally  obtuse  to  all  sense  of  these  distinctions. 

One  Monday  evening,  on  his  return  from  town,  Captain 
Cheston  brought  his  wife  and  sister  invitations  to  a  projected 
pic-nic  party,  among  the  managers  of  which  were  two  of  his 
intimate  friends.  The  company  was  to  consist  chiefly  of  ladies 
and  gentlemen  from  the  city.  Their  design  was  to  assemble 
on  the  following  Thursday,  at  some  pleasant  retreat  on  the 
banks  of  the  Delaware,  and  to  recreate  themselves  with  an 
unceremonious  fete  champetre.  "  I  invited  them,"  continued 
the  captain,  "  to  make  use  of  my  grounds  for  the  purpose. 
We  can  find  an  excellent  place  for  them  in  the  woods  by  the 
river  side.  Delham  and  Lonsgrave  will  be  here  to-morrow,  to 
reconnoitre  the  capabilities  of  the  place." 

The  ladies  were  delighted  with  the  prospect  of  the  pic-nic 
party ;  more  especially  on  finding  that  most  of  the  company 
were  known  to  them. 

"  It  will  be  charming,"  said  Albina,  "  to  have  them  near 
us,  and  to  be  able  to  supply  them  with  many  conveniences 
from  our  own  house.  You  may  be  assured,  dear  Bromley,  that 
I  shall  liberally  do  my  part  towards  contributing  to  the  pic- 
nickery.  You  know  that  our  culinary  preparations  never  go 
wrong  now  that  I  have  more  experience,  good  servants,  and 
above  all  plenty  to  do  with." 

"How   fortunate,"    said   Myrtilla   Cheston,    "that    Mrs. 
Quimby  left  us  this  morning.    This  last  visit  has  been  so  long 
that  I  think  she  will  scarcely  favour  us  with  another  in  less 
than  two  or  three  weeks.     I  hope  she  will  not  hear  that  the* 
pic-nic  is  to  be  on  our  place." 

"  There  is  no  danger,"  replied  Cheston ;  "  Aunt  Quimby 
cannot  possibly  know  any  of  the  persons  concerned  in  it. 
And  besides,  I  met  her  to-day  in  the  street,  and  she  told  mo 
that  she  was  going  to  set  out  on  Wednesday  for  Baltimore,  to 
visit  Billy  Fairfowl's  sister,  Mrs.  Bagnell :  '  Also/  said  she, 
'  it  will  take  me  from  this  time  to  that  to  pack  my  things,  as 
I  never  before  went  so  far  from  home,  and  I  dare  say,  I  shall 
stay  in  Baltimore  all  the  rest  of  the  fall ;  I  don't  believe  when 
the  Bagnells  once  have  me  with  them,  they'll  let  me  come 
away  much  this  side  of  winter/  " 

"  I  sincerely  hope  they  will  not !"  exclaimed  Albina ;  "  I 


MR,    SMITH.  53 

am  so  glad  that  Nancy  Fairfowl  has  married  a  Baltimorcan. 
I  trust  they  will  make  their  house  so  pleasant  to  Aunt  Quimby, 
that  she  will  transfer  her  favour  from  us  to  them.  You 
know  she  often  tells  us  that  Nancy  and  herself  are  as  like  as 
two  peas,  both  in  looks  and  ways;  and  from  her  account, 
Johnny  Bagnell  must  be  a  third  pea,  exactly  resembling  both 
of  them." 

"  And  yet/'  observed  Cheston,  "  people  whose  minds  arc 
of  the  same  calibre,  do  not  always  assimilate  as  well  as 
might  be  supposed.  When  too  nearly  alike,  and  too  close  to 
each  other,  they  frequently  rub  together  $o  as  to  grate  exceed 
ingly." 

We  Avill  pass  over  the  intervening  days  by  saying,  that  the 
preparations  for  the  pic-nic  party  were  duly  and  successfully 
made :  the  arrangement  of  the  ground  being  undertaken  by 
Captain  Cheston,  and  Lieutenants  Delham  and  Lonsgravc, 
and  completed  with  the  taste,  neatness,  and  judicious  arrange 
ment,  which  always  distinguishes  such  things  when  done  by 
officers,  whether  of  army  or  navy. 

The  appointed  Thursday  arrived.  It  was  a  lovely  day, 
early  in  September  :  the  air  being  of  that  delightful  and  exhi 
larating  temperature,  that  converts  the  mere  sense  of  existence 
into  pleasure.  The  heats  of  summer  were  over,  and  the  sky 
had  assumed  its  mildest  tint  of  blue.  All  was  calm  and  cool, 
and  lively,  and  the  country  seemed  sleeping  in  luxurious 
repose.  The  grass,  refreshed  by  the  August  rains,  looked 
green  as  that  of  the  "emerald  isle;"  and  the  forest  trees 
had  not  yet  begun  to  wear  the  brilliant  colours  of  autumn, 
excepting  here  and  there  a  maple  whose  foliage  was  already 
crimsoned.  The  orchards  were  loaded  with  fruit,  glowing  in 
ripeness ;  and  the  buckwheat  fields,  white  with  blossoms,  per 
fumed  the  air  with  their  honeyed  fragrance.  The  rich  flowers 
of  the  season  were  in  full  bloom.  Birds  of  beautiful  plumage 
still  lingered  in  the  woods,  and  were  warbling  their  farewell 
notes  previous  to  their  return  to  a  more  southern  latitude. 
The  morning  sunbeams  danced  and  glittered  on  the  blue  waters 
of  the  broad  and  brimming  Delaware,  as  the  mirrored  surface 
reflected  its  green  and  fertile  banks  with  their  flowery  mea 
dows,  embowering  groves,  and  modestly  elegant  villas. 

The  ground  allotted  to  the  party  was  an  open  space  in  the 
woodlands,  which  ran  along  an  elevated  ridge,  looking  directly 
down  on  the  noble  river  that  from  its  far-off'  source  in  the  Cats- 
kill  mountains,  first  dividing  Pennsylvania  from  New  York  and 


54  MR.    SMITH. 

then  from  New  Jersey,  carries  its  tributary  stream  the  distance 
of  three  hundred  miles,  till  it  widens  into  the  dim  and  lonely  bay 
whose  last  waves  are  blended  with  the  dark-rolling  Atlantic. 
Old  trees  of  irregular  and  fantastic  forms,  leaning  far  over  the 
water,  grew  on  the  extreme  edge  of  this  bank ;  and  from  its 
steep  and  crumbling  side  protruded  their  wildly  twisted  roots, 
fringed  with  long  fibres  that  had  been  washed  bare  by  the 
tide  which  daily  overflowed  the  broad  strip  of  gray  sand,  that 
margined  the  river.  Part  of  an  old  fence,  that  had  been 
broken  down  and  carried  away  by  the  incursions  of  a  spring 
freshet,  still  remained,  at  intervals,  along  the  verge  of  the 
bank ;  and  his  ladies  had  prevailed  on  Captain  Cheston  not  to 
repair  it,  as  in  its  ruinous  state  it  looked  far  more  picturesque 
than  if  new  and  in  good  order.  In  clearing  this  part  of  the 
forest  many  of  the  largest  and  finest  trees  had  been  left  stand 
ing,  and  beneath  their  shade  seats  were  now  dispersed  for  the 
company.  In  another  part  of  the  opening,  a  long  table  had 
been  set  under  a  sort  of  marquee,  constructed  of  colours  brought 
from  the  Navy  Yard,  and  gracefully  suspended  to  the  wide- 
spreading  branches  of  some  noble  oaks  :  the  stars  and  stripes 
of  the  most  brilliant  flag  in  the  world,  blending  in  picturesque 
elegance  with  the  green  and  clustering  foliage.  At  a  little 
distance,  under  a  group  of  trees,  whose  original  forms  were 
hidden  beneath  impervious  masses  of  the  forest  grape-vine, 
was  placed  a  side-table  for  the  reception  of  the  provisions,  as 
they  were  unpacked  from  the  baskets ',  and  a  clear  shady 
brook  which  wandered  near,  rippling  over  a  bed  of  pebbles 
on  its  way  down  to  the  river,  afforded  an  unlimited  supply  of 
"  water  clear  as  diamond  spark,"  and  made  an  excellent  refri 
gerator  for  the  wine  bottles. 

Most  of  the  company  were  to  go  up  in  the  early  boat :  pur 
posing  to  return  in  the  evening  by  the  railroad.  Others,  who 
preferred  making  their  own  time,  were  to  come  in  carriages. 
As  soon  as  the  bell  of  the  steamboat  gave  notice  of  her  ap 
proach,  Captain  Cheston,  with  his  wife  and  sister,  accompanied 
by  Lieutenants  Delham  and  Lonsgrave,  went  down  to  the 
landing-place  to  receive  the  first  division  of  the  pic-nic  party, 
which  was  chiefly  of  young  people,  all  with  smiling  counte 
nances,  and  looking  as  if  they  anticipated  a  very  pleasant 
little  fete.  The  Chestons  were  prepared  to  say  with  Seged  of 
Ethiopia,  "  This  day  shall  be  a  day  of  happiness" — but  as 
the  last  of  the  gay  procession  stepped  from  the  landing-board, 
Aunt  Quimby  brought  up  the  rear. 


MR.    SMITH.  55 

"  Oh  !  Bromley/'  said  Mrs.  Cheston,  in  a  low  voice,  to  her 
husband,  "  there  is  our  most  mal-d-propos  of  aunts — I  thought 
she  was  a  hundred  miles  off.  This  is  really  too  bad — what 
shall  we  do  with  her  ?  On  this  day,  too,  of  all  days — " 

"  We  can  do  nothing,  but  endeavour,  as  usual,  to  make  the 
best  of  her,"  replied  the  captain ;  "  but  where  did  she  pick 
up  that  common-looking  man,  whom  she  seems  to  be  hauling 
along  with  her  ?" 

Mrs.  Quimby  now  came  up,  and  after  the  first  greeting, 
Albina  and  Myrtilla  endeavoured  to  withdraw  from  her  the 
attention  of  the  rest  of  the  company,  whom  they  conducted 
for  the  present  to  the  house ;  but  she  seized  upon  the  captain, 
to  whom  she  introduced  her  companion  by  the  appellation  of 
Mr.  Smith.  The  stranger  looked  embarrassed,  and  seemed  as 
if  he  could  scarcely  presume  to  take  the  offered  hand  of  Cap 
tain  Cheston,  and  muttered  something  about  trespassing  on 
hospitality,  but  Aunt  Quimby  interrupted  him  with — "  Oh  ! 
nonsense,  now,  Mr.  Smith — where' s  the  use  of  being  so  shame 
faced,  and  making  apologies  for  what  can't  be  helped  ?  I  dare 
say  my  nephew  and  niece  wonder  quite  as  much  at  seeing  me. 
here,  supposing  that  I'm  safe  and  sound  at  Nancy  Bagnell's, 
in  Baltimore.  But  are  you  sure  my  baggage  is  all  on  the 
barrow  ?  Just  step  back,  and  see  if  the  big  blue  bandbox  is 
safe,  and  the  little  yellow  one ;  I  should  not  wonder  if  the 
porter  tosses  them  off,  or  crushes  in  the  lids.  All  men  seem 
to  have  a  spite  at  bandboxes." 

Mr.  Smith  meekly  obeyed :  and  Aunt  Quimby,  taking  the 
arm  of  Cheston,  walked  with  him  towards  the  house. 

"  Tell  me  who  this  gentleman  is,"  said  Captain  Cheston. 
"  He  cannot  belong  to  any  of  the  Smiths  of  (  Market,  Arch, 
Race,  and  Vine,  Chestnut,  Walnut,  Spruce,  and  Pine.' '; 

"No,"  replied  Mrs.  Quimby,  "nor  to  the  Smiths  of  the 
cross-streets  neither — nor  to  those  up  in  the  Northern  Liber 
ties,  nor  them  down  in  Southwark.  If  you  mean  that  he  is 
not  a  Philadelphia  man,  you've  hit  the  nail  on  the  head — but 
that's  no  reason  there  shouldn't  be  Smiths  enough  all  over  the 
world.  However,  the  short  and  the  long  of  it  is  this — I  was 
to  have  started  for  Baltimore  yesterday  morning,  bright  and 
early,  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Neverwait — but  the  shoemaker  had 
not  sent  home  my  over-shoes,  and  the  dyer  had  not  finished 
my  gray  Canton  crape  shawl,  that  he  was  doing  a  cinnamon 
broAvn,  and  the  milliner  disappointed  me  in  new-lining  my 
bonnet ;  so  I  could  not  possibly  go,  you  know,  and  the  Never- 


56  MR.    SMITH. 

waits  went  without  me.  Well,  the  things  icere  brought  home 
last  night,  which  was  like  coming  a  day  after  the  fair.  But 
as  I  was  all  packed  up,  I  was  bent  upon  going,  somehow  or 
other,  this  morning.  So  I  made  Billy  Fairfowl  take  me  down 
to  the  wharf,  bag  and  baggage,  to  see  if  he  could  find  anybody 
he  knew  to  take  charge  of  me  to  Baltimore.  And  there,  as 
good  luck  would  have  it,  we  met  with  Mr.  Smith,  who  has 
been  several  times  in  Billy's  store,  and  bought  domestics  of 
him,  and  got  acquainted  with  him ;  so  that  Billy,  finding  this 
poor  Mr.  Smith  was  a  stranger,  and  a  man  that  took  no  airs, 
and  that  did  not  set  up  for  great  things,  got  very  sociable  with 
him,  and  even  invited  him  to  tea.  Now,  when  we  met  him 
on  the  wharf,  Mr.  Smith  was  quite  a  windfall  for  us,  and  he 
agreed  to  escort  me  to  Baltimore,  as  of  course  he  must,  when 
he  was  asked.  So,  then,  Billy  being  in  a  hurry  to  go  to  mar 
ket  for  breakfast  (before  all  the  pick  of  the  butter  was  gone), 
just  bade  me  good-bye,  and  left  me  on  the  wharf,  seeing  what 
good  hands  I  was  in.  Now,  poor  Mr.  Smith  being  a  stranger, 
and,  of  course,  not  so  well  used  to  steamboats  as  our  own  peo 
ple,  took  me  into  the  wrong  one ;  for  the  New  York  and  Bal 
timore  boats  were  laying  side  by  side,  and  seemed  both  mixed 
together,  so  that  it  was  hard  telling  which  was  which,  the 
crowd  hiding  everything  from  us.  And  after  we  got  on  board, 
I  was  so  busy  talking,  and  he  a  listening,  and  looking  at  the 
people,  that  we  never  found  out  our  mistake  till  we  were  half 
way  up  the  river,  instead  of  being  half-way  down  it.  And 
then  I  heard  the  ladies  all  round  talking  of  a  nic  or  a  pic  (or 
both  I  believe  they  called  it),  that  they  said  was  to  be  held  on 
Captain  Cheston' s  grounds.  So,  then,  I  pricked  up  iny  ears, 
and  found  that  it  was  even  so ;  and  I  told  them  that  Captain 
Cheston  was  a  near  relation  of  mine,  for  his  wife  was  own 
daughter  to  Mrs.  Marsden  that  was,  whose  first  husband  was 
my  sister  Nelly's  own  son ;  and  all  about  your  marrying  Al- 
bina,  and  what  a  handsome  place  you  have,  and  how  Mr. 
Smith  and  I  had  got  into  the  wrong  boat,  and  were  getting 
carried  off,  being  taken  up  the  river  instead  of  down." 

"  And  what  did  the  company  say  to  all  this  ?"  inquired 
Cheston. 

"  Why,  I  don't  exactly  remember,  but  they  must  have  said 
something ;  for  I  know  those  that  were  nearest  stopped  their 
own  talk  when  I  began.  And,  after  awhile,  I  went  across  to 
the  other  side  of  the  boat,  where  Mr.  Smith  was  leaning  over 
the  railing,  and  looking  at  the  foam  flying  from  the  wheels, 


MR.    SMITH.  57 

(as  if  it  was  something  new),  and  I  pulled  bis  sleeve,  and  told 
him  we  were  quite  in  luck  to-day,  for  we  should  be  at^a  party 
without  intending  it.  And  he  made  a  sort  of  humming  and 
hawing  about  intruding  himself  (as  he  called  it)  without  an 
invitation.  But  I  told  him  to  leave  all  that  to  me— I'd  engage 
to  pass  him  through.  And  ^°  ^Iked  something  of  betaking 
himself  to  the  r^n^oo  notel  after  we  landed,  and  waiting  for 
the  Ti"-*  ^uat  down  tne  river.  However,  I  would  not  listen 
to  that ;  and  I  made  him  understand  that  any  how  there  could 
be  no  Baltimore  to-day,  as  it  was  quite  too  late  to  get  there 
now  by  any  contrivance  at  all;  and  that  we  could  go  down 
with  the  other  company  this  evening  by  the  railroad,  and  take 
a  fresh  start  to-morrow  morning.  Still  he  seemed  to  hold 
back ;  and  I  told  him  that  as  to  our  going  to  the  party,  all 
things  had  turned  up  as  if  it  was  to  be,  and  I  should  think  it 
a  sin  to  fling  such  good  luck  aside,  when  it  was  just  ready  to 
drop  into  our  mouths,  and  that  he  might  never  have  another 
chance  of  being  in  such  genteel  company  as  long  as  he  lived. 
This  last  hint  seemed  to  do  the  business,  for  he  gave  a  sort  of 
a  pleased  smile,  and  made  no  more  objection.  And  then  I 
put  him  in  mind  that  the  people  that  owned  the  ground  were 
my  own  niece  and  nephew,  who  were  always  crazy  to  see  me, 
and  have  me  with  them ;  and  I  could  answer  for  it  they'd  be 
just  as  glad  to  see  any  of  my  acquaintance — and  as  to  the 
eatables,  I  was  sure  his  being  there  would  not  make  a  cent's 
worth  of  difference,  for  I  was  certain  there' d  be  plenty,  and 
oceans  of  plenty,  and  I  told  him  only  to  go  and  look  at  the 
baskets  of  victuals  that  were  going  up  in  the  boat ;  besides  all 
that,  I  knew  the  Chestons  would  provide  well,  for  they  were 
never  backward  with  anything." 

She  now  stopped  to  take  breath,  and  Cheston  inquired  if 
her  son-in-law  knew  nothing  more  of  Mr.  Smith  than  from 
merely  seeing  him  in  his  store. 

"  Oh !  yes ;  did  not  I  tell  you  we  had  him  to  tea  ?  You 
need  not  mention  it  to  anybody — but  (if  the  truth  must  be 
told)  Mr.  Smith  is  an  Englishman.  The  poor  man  can't  help 
that,  you  know :  and  I'm  sure  I  should  never  have  guessed 
it,  for  he  neither  looks  English  nor  talks  English.  He  is  not 
a  bit  like  that  impudent  Mr.  Montague,  who  took  slices  out 
of  Albina's  big  plum-cake  hours  before  the  company  came,  at 
that  great  party  she  gave  for  Mrs.  Washington  Potts." 

"  Pshaw  !"  said  Cheston. 

"  Yes,  you  may  well  pshaw  at  it.     But  after  all,  for  my 


58  MR.    SMITH. 

own  part,  I  must  say  I  enjoyed  myself  very  much  that  even 
ing.  I  had  a  great  deal  of  pleasant  talk.  I  was  sorry,  after 
wards,  that  I  did  not  stay  down  stairs  to  the  last,  to  see  if  all 
the  company  took  French  leave  like  me.  If  they  did,  it  must 
have  been  quite  a  pretty  sight  to  see  them  go.  By  the  bye, 
(now  I  talk  of  French  Icave^^i^pu  hear  that  the  Washing 
ton  Pottses  have  broke  all  to  piecesparix3r-?ica1eon?  to  France 
to  live  upon  the  money  that  he  made  over  tcTnis^mx..^'],.' 
it  from  his  creditors  ?" 

"  But,  Mr.  Smith — "  resumed  Cheston. 

a  Why,  Bromley,  what  makes  you  so  fidgety?  Billy  Fair- 
fowl  (though  I  say  it  that  shouldn't  say  it)  is  not  the  man  to 
ask  people  to  tea  unless  he  is  sure  they  are  pretty  decent  sort 
of  folks.  So  he  went  first  to  the  British  Consul,  and  inquired 
about  Mr.  Smith,  and  described  his  look  and  dress  just  as  he 
would  a  runaway  'prentice.  And  the  Consul  knew  exactly 
who  he  meant,  and  told  him  he  would  answer  for  Mr.  Smith's 
being  a  man  of  good  character,  and  perfectly  honest  and  re 
spectable.  And  that,  you  know,  is  quite  as  much  as  need  be 
said  of  anybody.  So,  then,  we  had  him  to  tea,  quite  in  a  plain 
way;  but  he  seemed  very  easily  satisfied,  and  though  there 
were  huckleberries,  and  cucumbers,  and  dough-nuts,  he  did 
not  eat  a  thing  but  bread  and  butter,  and  not  much  of  that, 
and  took  no  sugar  in  his  tea,  and  only  drank  two  cups.  And 
Billy  talked  to  him  the  whole  evening  about  our  factories,  and 
our  coal  and  iron :  and  he  listened  quite  attentively,  and 
seemed  to  understand  very  well,  though  he  did  not  say  much ; 
and  he  kept  awake  all  the  time,  which  was  very  clever  of  him, 
and  more  than  Billy  is  used  to.  He  seems  like  a  good-hearted 
man,  for  he  saved  little  Jane  from  pulling  the  tea-waiter  down 
upon  her  head,  as  she  was  coming  out  from  under  the  table ; 
and  he  ran  and  picked  up  Johnny,  when  he  fell  over  the 
rockers  of  the  big  chair,  and  wiped  the  blood  off  his  nose  with 
his  own  clean  handkerchief.  I  dare  say  he's  a  good  soul ;  but 
he  is  very  humble-minded,  and  seems  so  afraid  of  saying  wrong 
that  he  hardly  says  anything.  Here  he  comes,  trudging  along 
beside  the  porter;  and  I  see  he  has  got  all  the  baggage  safe, 
even  the  brown  paper  parcel  and  the  calico  bag.  That's  his 
own  trunk,  under  all  the  rest." 

Mr.  Smith  now  came  up,  and  inquired  of  Captain  Cheston 
for  the  nearest  inn,  that  he  might  remain  there  till  a  boat 
passed  down  for  Philadelphia.  "Why,  Mr.  Smith,"  inter 
rupted  Aunt  Quimby,  "  whore's  the  sense  of  being  so  back- 


ME.    SMITH.  59 

ward  ?  We  ought  to  be  thankful  for  our  good  luck  in  getting 
here  on  the  very  day  of  the  pic-nic,  even  though  we  did  come 
by  mistake.  And  now  you  are  here,  it's  all  nonsense  for  you 
to  run  away,  and  go  and  mope  by  yourself  at  a  country  tavern. 
I  suppose  you  are  afraid  you're  not  welcome ;  but  I'll  answer 
for  you  as  well  as  myself." 

Civility  to  the  stranger  required  that  Captain  Cheston 
should  second  Mrs.  Quimby ;  and  he  did  so  in  terms  so  polite 
that  Mr.  Smith  was  induced,  with  much  diffidence,  to  remain. 

<(  Poor  man  !"  said  Aunt  Quimby,  in  a  low  voice,  to  the 
captain,  "  between  ourselves,  it's  plain  enough  that  he  is  not 
much  used  to  being  among  great  people,  and  he's  afraid  of 
feeling  like  a  fish  out  of  water.  He  must  have  a  very  poor 
opinion  of  himself,  for  even  at  Billy  Fairf owl's  he  did  not 
seem  quite  at  home;  though  we  all  tried  to  encourage  him, 
and  I  told  him  myself,  as  soon  as  we  sat  down  to  the  tea-table, 
to  make  just  as  free  as  if  he  was  in  his  own  house." 

Arrived  at  the  mansion  of  the  Chestons,  Mrs.  Quimby  at 
first  objected  to  changing  her  dress,  which  was  a  very  rusty 
black  silk,  with  a  bonnet  to  match ;  declaring  that  she  was 
sure  nothing  was  expected  of  people  who  were  on  their  travels, 
and  that  she  saw  no  use  in  taking  the  trouble  to  unpack  her 
baggage.  She  was,  however,  overruled  by  the  representations 
of  Albina,  who  offered  to  both  unpack  and  re-pack  for  her. 
Accordingly  she  equipped  herself  in  what  she  called  her 
second-best  suit.  The  gown  was  a  thick  rustling  silk,  of  a 
very  reddish  brown,  with  a  new  inside  kerchief  of  blue-tinted 
book  muslin  that  had  never  been  washed.  Over  her  shoulders 
she  pinned  her  Canton-crape  shawl,  whose  brown  tinge  was 
entirely  at  variance  with  the  shade  of  her  gown.  On  her  head 
was  a  stiff  hard  cap,  trimmed  with  satin  ribbon,  of  a  still  dif 
ferent  brown  colour,  the  ends  of  the  bows  sticking  out  hori 
zontally,  and  scolloped  into  numerous  points.  She  would  not 
wear  her  best  bonnet,  lest  it  should  be  injured;  and  fortu 
nately  her  worst  was  so  small  that  she  found,  if  she  put  it  on, 
it  would  crush  her  second-best  cap.  She  carried  in  one  hand  a 
stiff-starched  handkerchief  of  imitation-cambric,  which  she 
considered  too  good  to  unfold ;  and  with  the  other  she  held 
over  her  head  a  faded  green  parasol. 

Thus  equipped,  the  old  lady  set  out  with  Captain  and  Mrs. 

Cheston  for  the  scene  of  the  pic-nic ;  the  rest  of  the  party 

being  a  little  in  advance  of  them.     They  saw  Mr.   Smith 

strolling  about  the  lawn,  and  Mrs.  Quimby  called  to  him  to 

5* 


60  MR.    SMITH. 

come  and  give  his  arm  to  her  niece,  saying,  "  There,  Albina, 
take  him  under  your  wing,  and  try  to  make  him  sociable,  while 
I  walk  on  with  your  husband.  Bromley,  how  well  you  look 
in  your  navy -regimentals.  I  declare  I'm  more  and  more  in 
luck.  It  is  not  everybody  that  can  have  an  officer  always 
ready  and  willing  to  'squire  them" — And  the  old  lady  (like 
many  young  ladies)  unconsciously  put  on  a  different  face  and 
a  different  walk,  while  escorted  by  a  gentleman  in  uniform. 

" Bromley,"  continued  Aunt  Quimby,  "I  heard  some  of  the 
pic-nic  ladies  in  the  boat  saying  that  those  which  are  to  ride 
up  are  to  bring  a  lion  with  them.  This  made  me  open  my 
eyes,  and  put  me  all  in  quiver ;  so  I  could  not  help  speaking 
out,  and  saying — I  should  make  a  real  right  down  objection 
to  his  being  let  loose  among  the  company,  even  if  he  was  ever 
so  tame.  Then  they  laughed,  and  one  of  them  said  that  a 
lion  meant  a  great  man ;  and  asked  me  if  I  had  never  heard 
the  term  before.  I  answered  that  may  be  I  had,  but  it  must 
have  slipped  my  memory ;  and  that  I  thought  it  a  great  shame 
to  speak  of  Christian  people  as  if  they  were  wild  beasts." 

"And  who  is  this  great  man?"  inquired  Cheston. 

"Oh !  he's  a  foreigner  from  beyond  sea,  and  he  is  coming 
with  some  of  the  ladies  in  their  own  carriage — Baron  Some 
body"— 

"Baron  Yon  Klingenberg,"  said  Cheston,  "I  have  heard 
of  him." 

"  That's  the  very  name.  It  seems  he  is  just  come  from 
Germany,  and  has  taken  rooms  at  one  of  the  tip-top  hotels, 
where  he  has  a  table  all  to  himself.  I  wonder  how  any  man 
can  bear  to  eat  his  victuals  sitting  up  all  alone,  with  not  a 
soul  to  speak  a  word  with.  I  think  I  should  die  if  I  had  no 
body  to  talk  to.  "Well — they  said  that  this  Baron  is  a  person 
of  very  high  tone,  which  I  suppose  means  that  he  has  a  very 
loud  voice — and  from  what  I  could  gather,  it's  fashionable  for 
the  young  ladies  to  fall  in  love  with  him,  and  they  think  it 
an  honour  to  get  a  bow  from  him  in  Chesnut  street,  and  they 
take  him  all  about  with  them.  And  they  say  he  has  in  his 
own  country  a  castle  that  stands  on  banks  of  rind,  which  seems 
a  strange  foundation.  Dear  me — now  we've  got  to  the  pic-nic 
place — how  gay  and  pretty  everything  looks,  and  what  heaps 
of  victuals  there  must  be  in  all  those  baskets,  and  oceans  of 
drinkables  in  all  those  bottles  and  demijohns.  Mercy  on  me 
— I  pity  the  dish-washers — when  will  they  get  through  all  the 
dirty  plates  !  And  I  clor-bro  !  how  beautiful  the  flags  look  ! 


MR.  SMITH.  61 

fixed  up  over  the  table  just  like  bed-curtains — I  am  glad  you 
have  plenty  of  chairs  here,  besides  the  benches. — And  only 
see  ! — if  here  aVt  cakes  and  lemonade  coming  round." 

The  old  lady  took  her  seat  under  one  of  the  large  trees,  and 
entered  unhesitatingly  into  whatever  conversation  was  within 
her  hearing ;  frequently  calling  away  the  Chestons  to  ask  them 
questions  or  address  to  them  remarks.  The  company  generally 
divided  into  groups ;  some  sat,  some  walked,  some  talked ;  and 
some,  retreating  farther  into  the  woods,  amused  themselves 
and  each  other  with  singing,  or  playing  forfeits.  There  was, 
as  is  usual  in  Philadelphia  assemblages,  a  very  large  proportion 
of  handsome  young  ladies ;  and  all  were  dressed  in  that  con 
sistent,  tasteful,  and  decorous  manner  which  distinguishes  the 
fair  damsels  of  the  city  of  Penn. 

In  a  short  time  Mrs.  Quimby  missed  her  protegee,  and 
looking  round  for  him  she  exclaimed — "Oh!  if  there  is  not 
Mr.  Smith  a  sitting  on  a  rail,  just  back  of  me,  all  the  time. 
Do  come  down  off  the  fence,  Mr.  Smith.  You'll  find  a  much 
pleasanter  seat  on  this  low  stump  behind  me,  than  to  stay 
perched  up  there.  Myrtilla  Cheston,  my  dear,  come  here — I 
want  to  speak  to  you." 

Miss  Cheston  had  the  amiability  to  approach  promptly  and 
cheerfully  :  though  called  away  from  an  animated  conversation 
with  two  officers  of  the  navy,  two  of  the  army,  and  three  young 
lawyers,  who  had  all  formed  a  semicircle  round  four  of  the 
most  attractive  belles  :  herself  being  the  cynosure. 

"Myrtilla,"  said  Aunt  Quimby,  in  rather  a  low  voice,  "do 
take  some  account  of  this  poor  forlorn  man  that's  sitting  behind 
me.  He's  so  very  backward,  and  thinks  himself  such  a  mere 
nobody,  that  I  dare  say  he  feels  bad  enough  at  being  here 
without  an  invitation,  and  all  among  strangers  too — though 
I've  told  him  over  and  over  that  he  need  not  have  the  least  fear 
of  being  welcome.  There  now — there's  a  good  girl — go  and 
spirit  him  up  a  little.  You  know  you  are  at  home  here  on 
your  brother's  own  ground." 

"I  scarcely  know  how  to  talk  to  an  Englishman,"  replied 
Myrtilla,  in  a  very  low  voice. 

"Why,  can't  you  ask  him,  if  he  ever  in  his  life  saw  so  wide 
a  river,  and  if  he  ever  in  his  life  saw  such  big  trees,  and  if  he 
don't  think  our  sun  a  great  deal  brighter  than  his,  and  if  he 
ever  smelt  buckwheat  before  ?" 

Myrtilla  turned  towards  Mr.  Smith  (and  perceiving  from 
his  ill-suppressed  smile  that  he  had  heard  Mrs.  Quimby's 


62  MR.    SMITH. 

instructions)  like  Olivia  in  the  play,  she  humoured  the  jest 
by  literally  following  them,  making  a  curtsy  to  the  gentleman, 
and  saying,  "Mr.  Sinith,  did  you  ever  in  your  life  see  so 
wide  a  river  ?  did  you  ever  in  your  life  see  such  big  trees  ? 
don't  you  think  our  sun  a  great  deal  brighter  than  yours  ?  and 
did  you  ever  smell  buckwheat  before  1" 

"  I  have  not  had  that  happiness,"  replied  Mr.  Smith  with 
a  simpering  laugh,  as  he  rose  from  the  old  stump,  and,  forget 
ting  that  it  was  not  a  chair,  tried  to  hand  it  to  Myrtilla.  She 
bowed  in  acknowledgment,  placed  herself  on  the  seat — and  for 
awhile  endeavoured  to  entertain  Mr.  Smith,  as  he  stood  leaning 
(not  picturesquely)  against  a  portion  of  the  broken  fence. 

In  the  mean  time  Mrs.  Quimby  continued  to  call  on  the  at 
tention  of  those  around  her.  To  some  the  old  lady  was  a 
squrce  of  amusement,  to  others  of  disgust  and  annoyance.  By 
this  time  they  all  understood  who  she  was,  and  how  she  hap 
pened  to  be  there.  Fixing  her  eyes  on  a  very  dignified  and 
fashionable  looking  young  lady,  whom  she  had  heard  addressed 
as  Miss  Lybrand,  and  (who  with  several  others)  was  sitting 
nearly  opposite,  "Pray,  Miss,"  said  Aunt  Quimby,  "was  your 
grandfather's  name  Moses  ?" 

"  It  was,"  replied  the  young  lady. 

"  Oh !  then  you  must  be  a  granddaughter  of  old  Moses  Ly 
brand,  who  kept  a  livery  stable  up  in  Race  street ;  and  his  son 
Aaron  always  used  to  drive  the  best  carriage,  after  the  old 
man  was  past  doing  it  himself.  Is  your  father's  name  Aaron  ?" 

"No,  madam,"  said  Miss  Lybrand — looking  very  red — "My 
father's  name  is  Richard."  \ 

"Richard — he  must  have  been  one  of  the  second  wife's 
children.  Oh  !  I  remember  seeing  him  about  when  he  was 
a  little  boy.  He  had  a  curly  head,  and  on  week  days  gene 
rally  wore  a  gray  jacket  and  corduroy  trowsers;  but  he  had  a 
nice  bottle-green  suit  for  Sunday.  Yes,  yes — they  went  to 
our  church,  and  sat  up  in  the  gallery.  And  he  was  your 
father,  was  he  ?  Then  Aaron  must  have  been  your  own  uncle. 
He  was  a  very  careful  driver  for  a  young  man.  He  learnt  of 
his  father.  I  remember  just  after  we  were  first  married,  Mr. 
Quimby  hiring  Moses  Ly brand's  best  carriage  to  take  me  and 
my  bridesmaids  and  groomsmen  on  a  trip  to  Germantown.  It 
was  a  yellow  coachee  with  red  curtains,  and  held  us  all  very 
well  with  close  packing.  In  those  days  people  like  us  took 
their  wedding  rides  to  Germantown  and  Frankford  and  Darby, 
and  ordered  a  dinner  at  a  tavern  with  custards  and  whips,  and 
came  home  in  the  evening.  And  the  high-flyers,  when  they 


MR.    SMITH.  63 

got  married,  went  as  far  as  Chester  or  Dunks?  s  Ferry.  They 
did  not  then  start  off  from  the  church  door  and  scour  the  roads 
all  the  way  to  Niagara  just  because  they  were  brides  and 
grooms ;  as  if  that  was  any  reason  for  flying  their  homes  di 
rectly.  But  pray  what  has  become  of  your  uncle  Aaron  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know/'  said  the  young  lady,  looking  much  dis 
pleased;  "I  never  heard  of  him." 

"But  did  not  you  tell  me  your  grandfather's  name  was 
Moses?" 

"  There  may  have  been  other  Moses  Lybrands." 

"  v\ras  not  he  a  short  pockmarked  man,  that  walked  a  little 
lame,  with  something  of  a  cast  in  his  right  eye :  or,  I  won't 
be  positive,  may  be  it  was  in  the  left  ?" 

"I  am  very  sure  papa's  father  was  no  such  looking  person," 
replied  Miss  Ly brand,  "but  I  never  saw  him — he  died  before 
I  was  born — " 

"Poor  old  man,"  resumed  Mrs.  Quimby,  "if  I  remember 
right,  Moses  became  childish  many  years  before  his  death." 

Miss  Lybrand  then  rose  hastily,  and  proposed  to  her  imme 
diate  companions  a  walk  farther  into  the  woods ;  and  Myrtilla, 
leaving  the  vicinity  of  Mr.  Smith,  came  forward  and  joined 
them  :  her  friends  making  a  private  signal  to  her  not  to  invite 
the  aforesaid  gentleman  to  accompany  them. 

Aunt  Quimby  saw  them  depart,  and  looking  round  said — 
"Why,  Mr.  Smith — have  the  girls  given  you  the  slip?  But 
to  be  sure,  they  meant  you  to  follow  them !" 

Mr.  Smith  signified  that  he  had  not  courage  to  do  so  without 
an  invitation,  and  that  he  feared  he  had  already  been  tiring 
Miss  Cheston. 

"Pho,  pho,"  said  Mrs.  Quimby,  "you  are  quite  too  humble. 
Pluck  up  a  little  spirit,  and  run  after  the  girls." 

"I  believe,"  replied  he,  "I  cannot  take  such  a  liberty." 

"Then  I'll  call  Captain  Cheston  to  introduce  you  to  some 
more  gentlemen.  Here — Bromley — " 

"  No — no,"  said  Mr.  Smith,  stopping  her  apprehensively ; 
"I  would  rather  not  intrude  any  farther  upon  his  kindness." 

"I  declare  you  are  the  shame-facedest  man  I  ever  saw  in 
my  life.  Well,  then,  you  can  walk  about,  and  look  at  the  trees 
and  bushes.  There's  a  fine  large  buttonwood,  and  there's  a 
sassafras  •  or  you  can  go  to  the  edge  of  the  bank  and  look  at 
the  river  and  watch  how  the  tide  goes  down  and  leaves  the 
splatter -docks  standing  in  the  mud.  See  how  thick  they  are 
at  low  water — I  wonder  if  you  couldn't  count  them.  And 


64  MR.    SMITH. 

may  be  you'll  see  a  wood-shallop  pass  along,  or  may  be  a 
coal-barge.  And  who  knows  but  a  sturgeon  may  jump  out  of 
the  water,  and  turn  head  over  heels  and  back  again — it's  quite 
a  handsome  sight !" 

Good  Mr.  Smith  did  as  he  was  bidden,  and  walked  about 
and  looked  at  things,  and  probably  counted  the  splatter-docks, 
and  perhaps  saw  a  fish  jump. 

"  It's  all  bashfulness — nothing  in  the  world  but  bashfulness," 
pursued  Mrs.  Quimby;  "that's  the  only  reason  Mr.  Smith 
don't  talk." 

"For  my  part,"  said  a  very  elegant  looking  girl,  "I  am 
perfectly  willing  to  impute  the  taciturnity  of  Mr.  Smith  (and 
that  off  all  other  silent  people)  to  modesty.  But  yet  I  must 
say,  that  as  far  as  I  have  had  opportunities  of  observing,  most 
men  above  the  age  of  twenty  have  sufficient  courage  to  talk, 
if  they  know  what  to  say.  When  the  head  is  well  furnished 
with  ideas,  the  tongue  cannot  habitually  refrain  from  giving 
them  utterance." 

"That's  a  very  good  observation,"  said  Mrs.  Quimby,  "and 
suits  me  exactly.  But  as  to  Mr.  Smith,  I  do  believe  it's  all 
bashfulness  with  him.  Between  ourselves  (though  the  British 
consul  warrants  him  respectable)  I  doubt  whether  he  was  ever 
in  such  genteel  society  before ;  and  may  be  he  thinks  it  his 
duty  to  listen  and  not  to  talk,  poor  man.  But  then  he  ought 
to  know,  that  in  our  country  he  need  not  be  afraid  of  nobody  : 
and  that  here  all  people  are  equal,  and  one  is  as  good  as 
another." 

"  Not  exactly,"  said  the  young  lady,  "  we  have  in  America,  as 
in  Europe,  numerous  gradations  of  mind,  manners,  and  character. 
Politically  we  are  equal,  as  far  as  regards  the  rights  of  citizens 
and  the  protection  of  the  laws ;  and  also  we  have  no  privileged 
orders.  But  individually  it  is  difficult  for  the  refined  and  the 
vulgar,  the  learned  and  the  ignorant,  the  virtuous  and  the 
vicious  to  associate  familiarly  and  indiscriminately,  even  in  a 
republic." 

The  old  lady  looked  mystified  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
proceeded — "As  you  say,  people's  different.  We  can't  be 
hail  fellow  well  met,  with  Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry — but  for  my 
part  I  think  myself  as  good  as  anybody  !" 

No  one  contradicted  this  opinion,  and  just  then  a  gentleman 
came  up  and  said  to  the  young  lady — "  Miss  Atwood,  allow 
me  to  present  you  with  a  sprig  of  the  last  wild  roses  of  the 


ME.    SMITH.  65 

season.  I  found  a  few  still  lingering  on  a  bush  in  a  shady 
lane  just  above." 

"  'I  bid  their  blossoms  in  my  bonnet  wave,' 

said  Miss  Atwood — inserting  them  amid  one  of  the  riband 
bows. 

" Atwood — Atwood,"  said  Aunt  Quimby,  "I  know  the 
name  very  well.  Is  not  your  father  Charles  Atwood,  who  used 
to  keep  a  large  wholesale  store  in  Front  street  ?" 

"I  have  the  happiness  of  being  that  gentleman's  daughter," 
replied  the  young  lady. 

"And  you  live  up  Chestnut  now,  don't  you — among  the 
fashionables  ?" 

"  My  father's  house  is  up  Chestnut  street." 

"  Your  mother  was  a  Ross,  wasn't  she  ?" 

"Her  maiden  name  was  Ross." 

"I  thought  so,"  proceeded  Mrs.  Quimby;  "I  remember 
your  father  very  well.  He  was  the  son  of  Tommy  Atwood, 
who  kept  an  ironmonger's  shop  down  Second  street  by  the 
New  Market.  Your  grandfather  was  a  very  obliging  man, 
rather  fat.  I  have  often  been  in  his  store,  when  we  lived  down 
that  way.  I  remember  once  of  buying  a  waffle-iron  of  him, 
and  when  I  tried  it  and  found  it  did  not  make  a  pretty  pattern 
on  the  waffles,  I  took  it  back  to  him  to  change  it :  but  having 
no  other  pattern,  he  returned  me  the  money  as  soon  as  I  asked 
him.  And  another  time,  he  had  the  kitchen  tongs  mended 
for  me  without  charging  a  cent,  when  I  put  him  in  mind  that 
I  had  bought  them  there ;  which  was  certainly  very  genteel  of 
him.  And  no  wonder  he  made  a  fortune ;  as  all  people  do 
that  are  obliging  to  their  customers,  and  properly  thankful  to 
them.  Your  grandfather  had  a  brother,  Jemmy  Atwood,  who 
kept  a  china  shop  up  Third  street.  He  was  your  great-uncle, 
and  he  married  Sally  Dickison,  whose  father,  old  Adam  Dickison, 
was  in  the  shoemaking  line,  and  died  rich.  I  have  heard  Mr. 
Quimby  tell  all  about  them.  He  knew  all  the  family  quite 
well,  and  he  once  had  a  sort  of  notion  of*  Sally  Dickison  him 
self,  before  he  got  acquainted  with  me.  Old  Adam  Dickison 
was  a  very  good  man,  but  he  and  his  wife  were  rather  too  fond 
of  family  names.  He  called  one  of  his  daughters  Sarah,  after 
his  mother,  and  another  Sarah,  after  his  wife ;  for  he  said  '  there 
couldn't  be  too  many  Sally  Dickisons.'  But  they  found  after 
wards  they  could  not  get  along  without  tacking  Ann  to  one 


66  MR.  SMITH. 

of  the  Sarahs,  and  Jane  to  the  other.  Then  they  had  a  little 
girl  whom  they  called  Debby,  after  some  aunt  Deborah.  But 
little  Debby  died,  and  next  they  had  a  boy ;  yet  rather  than 
the  name  should  be  lost,  they  christened  him  Debbius.  I  wish 
I  could  remember  whether  Debbius  was  called  after  the  little 
Debby  or  the  big  one.  Sometimes  I  think  it  was  one  and 
sometimes  t'other — I  dare  say  Miss  Atwood,  you  can  tell,  as 
you  belong  to  the  family?" 

"  I  am  glad  that  I  can  set  this  question  at  rest,"  replied 
Miss  Atwood,  smiling  heroically ;  "  I  have  heard  the  circum 
stance  mentioned  when  my  father  has  spoken  of  his  great- 
uncle  Jemmy,  the  chinaman,  and  of  the  shoemaker's  family 
into  which  uncle  Jemmy  married,  and  in  which  were  the  two 
Sallys.  Debbius  was  called  equally  after  his  sister  and  his 
aunt." 

Then  turning  to  the  very  handsome  and  distingud-lookiug 
young  gentleman  who  had  brought  her  the  flowers,  and  who  had 
seemed  much  amused  at  the  foregoing  dialogue,  Miss  Atwood 
took  his  hand,  and  said  to  Aunt  Quimby  :  "  Let  me  present 
to  you  a  grandson  of  that  very  Debbius,  Mr.  Edward  Sym- 
mington,  my  sort  of  cousin ;  and  son  of  Mr.  Symniington,  the 
lawyer,  who  chanced  to  marry  Debbius's  daughter." 

Young  Syuimington  laughed,  and,  after  telling  Miss  Atwood 
that  she  did  everything  with  a  good  grace,  he  proposed  that 
they  should  join  some  of  their  friends  who  were  amusing 
themselves  further  up  in  the  woods.  Miss  Atwood  took  his 
arm,  and,  bowing  to  Mrs.  Quimby,  they  departed. 

"That's  a  very  pleasant  young  lady,"  said  she ;  "  I  am  glad 
I've  got  acquainted  with  her.  She's  very  much  like  her  grand 
father,  the  ironmonger;  her  nose  is  the  very  image  of  old 
Benny's." 

Fearing  that  their  turn  might  come  next,  all  the  young  people 
now  dispersed  from  the  vicinity  of  Aunt  Quimby,  who,  ac 
costing  a  housewifely  lady  that  had  volunteered  to  superintend 
the  arrangements  of  the  table,  proposed  going  with  her  to  see 
the  baskets  unpacked. 

The  remainder  of  the  morning  passed  pleasantly  away ; 
and  about  noon,  Myrtilla  Cheston  and  her  companions,  re 
turning  from  their  ramble,  gave  notice  that  the  carriages  from 
town  were  approaching.  Shortly  after,  there  appeared  at  the 
entrance  of 'the  wood,  several  vehicles  filled  with  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  who  had  preferred  this  mode  of  conveyance  to 


MR.  SMITH.  67 

coming  up  in  the  early  boat.  Most  of  the  company  went  to 
meet  them,  being  curious  to  see  exactly  who  alighted. 

When  the  last  carriage  drew  up,  there  was  a  buzz  all  round  : 
"  There  is  the  Baron  !  there  is  the  Baron  Von  Klingenberg  ; 
as  usual,  with  Mrs.  Blake  Bentley  and  her  daughters  I" 

After  the  new  arrivals  had  been  conducted  by  the  Chestons 
to  the  house,  and  adjusted  their  dresses,  they  were  shown  into 
what  was  considered  the  drawing-room  part  of  the  woods,  and 
accommodated  with  seats.  But  it  was  very  evident  that  Mrs. 
Blake  Bentley's  party  were  desirous  of  keeping  chiefly  to 
themselves,  talking  very  loudly  to  each  other,  and  seemingly 
resolved  to  attract  the  attention  of  every  one  round. 

"  Bromley,"  said  Mrs.  Quimby,  having  called  Captain  Ches- 
ton  to  her,  "  is  that  a  baron  T' 

"  That  is  the  Baron  Von  Klingenberg." 

"  Well,  between  ourselves,  he's  about  as  ugly  a  man  as  ever 
I  laid  my  eyes  on.  At  least,  he  looks  so  at  that  distance ; 
a  clumsy  fellow,  with  high  shoulders  and  a  round  back,  and 
his  face  all  over  hair,  and  as  bandy  as  he  can  be,  besides  '}  and 
he's  not  a  bit  young,  neither." 

"  Barons  never  seem  to  me  young,"  said  Miss  Turretville, 
a  young  lady  of  the  romantic  school,  "but  Counts  always 
do." 

"I  declare  even  Mr.  Smith  is  better  looking,"  pursued 
Aunt  Quimby,  fixing  her  eyes  on  the  baron  ;  "  don't  you  think 
so,  Miss  ?" 

"  I  think  nothing  about  him,"  replied  the  fair  Turretville. 

"  Mr.  Smith,"  said  Myrtilla,  "  perhaps  is  not  actually  ugly, 
and,  if  properly  dressed,  might  look  tolerably ;  but  he  is  too 
meek  and  too  weak.  I  wasted  much  time  in  trying  to  enter 
tain  him,  as  I  sat  under  the  tree;  but  he  only  looked  down 
and  simpered,  and  scarcely  ventured  a  word  in  reply.  One 
thing  is  certain,  I  shall  take  DO  further  account  of  him." 

"  Now,  Myrtilla,  it's  a  shame,  to  set  your  face  against  the 
poor  man  in  this  way.  I  dare  say  he  is  very  good." 

"  That  is  always  said  of  stupid  people." 

"  No  doubt  it  would  brighten  him  wonderfully,  if  you  were 
to  dance  with  him  when  the  ball  begins." 

"  Dance  !"  said  Myrtilla,  "  dance  with  him.  Do  you  sup 
pose  he  knows  either  a  step  or  a  figure  ?  No,  no  !  I  shall 
take  care  never  to  exhibit  myself  as  Mr.  Smith's  partner,  and 
I  beg  of  you,  Aunt  Quimby,  on  no  account  to  hint  such  a 
thing  to  him.  Besides,  I  am  already  engaged  three  sets 


68  MR.  SMITH. 

deep,"  and  she  ran  away,  on  seeing  that  Mr.  Smith  was  ap 
proaching. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Smith/'  said  the  old  lady,  "  have  you  been 
looking  at  the  shows  of  the  place  ?  And  now  the  greatest 
show  of  all  has  arrived — the  Baron  of  Clinkanbeg.  Have 
you  seen  him  ?" 

"  I  believe  I  have,"  replied  Mr.  Smith. 

"  You  wander  about  like  a  lost  sheep,  Mr.  Smith,"  said 
Aunt  Quimby,  protectingly,  "  and  look  as  if  you  had  not  a 
word  to  throw  at  a  dog ;  so  sit  down  and  talk  to  me.  There's 
a  dead  log  for  you.  And  now  you  shan't  stir  another  step 
till  dinner-time."  Mr.  Smith  seated  himself  on  the  dead  log, 
and  Mrs.  Quimby  proceeded :  "  I  wish,  though,  we  could  find 
places  a  little  nearer  to  the  baron  and  his  ladies,  and  hear 
them  talk.  Till  to-day,  I  never  heard  a  nobleman  speak  in 
my  life,  having  had  no  chance.  But,  after  all,  I  dare  say 
they  have  voices  much  like  other  people.  Did  you  ever  hap 
pen  to  hear  any  of  them  talk,  when  you  lived  in  England  ?" 

"  Once  or  twice,  I  believe,"  said  Mr.  Smith. 

"  Of  course — excuse  me;  Mr.  Smith — but,  of  course,  they 
didn't  speak  to  you  T' 

"  If  I  recollect  rightly,  they  chanced  to  have  occasion  to 
do  so." 

"  On  business,  I  suppose.  Do  noblemen  go  to  shops  them 
selves  and  buy  their  own  things  ?  Mr.  Smith,  just  please  to 
tell  me  what  line  you  are  in." 

Mr.  Smith  looked  very  red,  and  cast  down  his  eyes.  "  1 
am  in  the  tin  line,"  said  he,  after  a  pause. 

"  The  tin  line  !  Well,  never  mind ;  though,  to  be  sure,  I 
did  not  expect  you  were  a  tinner.  Perhaps  you  do  a  little 
also  in  the  japan  way  ?" 

"  No,"  replied  Mr.  Smith,  magnanimously,  "  I  deal  in  no 
thing  but  tin,  plain  tin  !" 

"  Well,  if  you  think  of  opening  a  shop  in  Philadelphia,  I 
am  pretty  sure  Billy  Fairfowl  will  give  you  his  custom  j  and 
I'll  try  to  get  Mrs.  Pattypan  and  Mrs.  Kettleworth  to  buy  all 
their  tins  of  you." 

Mr.  Smith  bowed  his  head  in  thankfulness. 

"  One  thing  I'm  sure  of,"  continued  Aunt  Quimby,  "you'll 
never  be  the  least  above  your  business.  And,  I  dare  say, 
after  you  get  used  to  our  American  ways,  and  a  little  more 
acquainted  with  our  people,  you'll  be  able  to  take  courage 
and  hold  up  your  head,  and  look  about  quite  pert." 


MR.    SMITH.  69 

Poor  Mr.  Smith  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  and  shook 
his  head,  as  if  repelling  the  possibility  of  his  ever  looking 
pert. 

The  Baron  Von  Klingenberg  and  his  party  were  all  on 
chairs,  and  formed  an  impervious  group.  Mrs.  Blake  Bentley 
sat  on  one  side  of  him,  her  eldest  daughter  on  the  other,  the 
second  and  third  Miss  Bentleys  directly  in  front,  and  the 
fourth,  a  young  lady  of  eighteen,  who  affected  infantine  sim 
plicity  and  passed  for  a  child,  seated  herself  innocently  on  the 
grass  at  the  baron's  feet.  Mrs.  Bentley  was  what  some  call 
a  fine-looking  woman,  being  rather  on  a  large  scale,  with  fierce 
black  eyes,  a  somewhat  acquiline  nose,  a  set  of  very  white 
teeth  (from  the  last  new  dentist),  very  red  cheeks,  and  a  pro 
fusion  of  dark  ringlets.  Her  dress,  and  that  of  her  daughters, 
was  always  of  the  most  costly  description,  their  whole  costume 
being  made  and  arranged  in  an  ultra  fashionable  manner. 
Around  the  Bentley  party  was  a  circle  of  listeners,  and  ad 
mirers,  and  enviers  ]  and  behind  that  circle  was  another  and 
another.  Into  the  outworks  of  the  last,  Aunt  Quimby  pushed 
her  way,  leading,  or  rather  pulling,  the  helpless  Mr.  Smith 
along  with  her. 

The  Baron  Von  Klingenberg  (to  do  him  justice)  spoke  our 
language  with  great  facility,  his  foreign  accent  being  so  slight 
that  many  thought  they  could  not  perceive  it  at  all.  Looking 
over  the  heads  of  the  ladies  immediately  around  him,  he 
levelled  his  opera-glass  at  all  who  were  within  his  view,  occa 
sionally  inquiring  about  them  of  Mrs.  Blake  Bentley,  who 
also  could  not  see  without  her  glass.  She  told  him  the  names 
of  those  whom  she  considered  the  most  fashionable,  adding, 
confidentially,  a  disparaging  remark  upon  each.  Of  a  large 
proportion  of  the  company,  she  affected,  however,  to  know 
nothing,  replying  to  the  baron's  questions  with:  "Oh!  I 
really  cannot  tell  you.  They  are  people  whom  one  does  not 
know — very  respectable,  no  doubt ;  but  not  the  sort  of  per 
sons  one  meets  in  society.  You  must  be  aware  that  on  these 
occasions  the  company  is  always  more  or  less  mixed,  for  which 
reason  I  generally  bring  my  own  party  along  with  me." 

"  This  assemblage/'  said  the  baron,  "  somewhat  reminds 
me  of  the  annual  fetes  I  give  to  my  serfs  in  the  park  that 
surrounds  my  castle,  at  the  cataract  of  the  Rhine." 

Miss  Turretville  had  just  come  up,  leaning  on  the  arm  of 
Myrtilla  Cheston.  "  Let  us  try  to  get  nearer  to  the  baron," 
said  she ;  "  he  is  talking  about  castles.  Oh  !  I  am  so  glad  that  I 


70  MR.    SMITH. 

have  been  introduced  to  him.  I  met  him  the  other  evening 
at  Mrs.  De  Mingle' s  select  party,  and  he  took  my  fan  out  of 
my  hand  and  fanned  himself  with  it.  There  is  certainly  an 
elegant  ease  about  European  gentlemen  that  our  Americans 
can  never  acquire.'7 

"Where  is  the  ease  and  elegance  of  Mr.  Smith  ?"  thought 
Myrtilla,  as  she  looked  over  at  that  forlorn  individual  shrink 
ing  behind  Aunt  Quimby. 

"  As  I  was  saying,"  pursued  the  baron,  lolling  back  in  his 
chair  and  applying  to  his  nose  Mrs.  Bentley's  magnificent 
essence-bottle,  "  when  I  give  these  fetes  to  my  serfs,  I  regale 
them  with  Westphalia  hams  from  my  own  hunting-grounds, 
and  with  hock  from  my  own  vineyards." 

"  Dear  me  !  ham  and  hock  !"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Quimby. 

"Baron,"  said  Miss  Turretville,  "I  suppose  you  have 
visited  the  Hartz  mountains  ?" 

"  My  castle  stands  on  one  of  them." 

"  Charming  !     Then  you  have  seen  the  Brocken  ?" 

"  It  is  directly  in  front  of  my  ramparts." 

"  How  delightful !  Do  you  never  imagine  that  on  a  stormy 
night  you  hear  the  witches  riding  through  the  air,  to  hold 
their  revels  on  the  Brocken  ?  Are  there  still  brigands  in  the 
Black  Forest  ?" 

"  Troops  of  them.  The  Black  Forest  is  just  back  of  my 
own  woods.  The  robbers  were  once  so  audacious  as  to  attack 
my  castle,  and  we  had  a  bloody  fight.  But  we  at  length  suc 
ceeded  in  taking  all  that  were  left  alive." 

"  What  a  pity  !  Was  their  captain  anything  like  Charles 
de  Moor  ?" 

"  Just  such  a  man." 

"  Baron,"  observed  Myrtilla,  a  little  mischievously,  "  the 
situation  of  your  castle  must  be  unique  ;  in  the  midst  of  the 
Hartz  mountains,  at  the  falls  of  the  llhine,  with  the  Brocken 
in  front,  and  the  Black  Forest  behind." 

"  You  doat  on  the  place,  don't  you  ?"  asked  Miss  Turret 
ville.  "  Do  you  live  there  always  ?" 

"  No ;  only  in  the  hunting  season.  I  am  equally  at  home 
in  all  the  capitals  of  the  continent.  I  might,  perhaps,  be 
chiefly  at  my  native  place,  Vienna,  only  my  friend,  the  em 
peror,  is  never  happy  but  when  I  am  with  him ;  and  his 
devotion  to  me  is  rather  overwhelming.  The  truth  is,  one 
gets  surfeited  with  courts,  and  kings,  and  princes  ;  so  I  thought 
it  would  be  quite  refreshing  to  take  a  trip  to  America,  having 


MR.    SMITH.  71 

great  curiosity  to  see  what  sort  of  a  place  it  is.  I  recollect, 
at  the  last  court  ball,  the  emperor  was  teazing  me  to  waltz 
with  his  cousin,  the  Archduchess  of  Hesse  Hoblingen,  who, 
he  feared,  would  be  offended  if  I  neglected  her.  But  her 
serene  highness  dances  as  if  she  had  a  cannon-ball  chained  to 
each  foot,  and  so  I  got  off  by  flatly  telling  my  friend  the  em 
peror  that  if  women  chose  to  go  to  balls  in  velvet  and  ermine, 
and  with  coronets  on  their  heads,  they  might  get  princes  or 
some  such  people  to  dance  with  them  ;  as  for  my  part,  it  was 
rather  excruciating  to  whirl  about  with  persons  in  heavy  royal 
robes  I" 

"  Is  it  possible  I"  exclaimed  Miss  Turretville,  "  did  you 
venture  to  talk  so  to  an  emperor  ?  Of  course  before  next  day 
you  were  loaded  with  chains  and  immured  in  a  dungeon ;  from 
which  I  suppose  you  escaped  by  a  subterranean  passage/' 

"  Not  at  all ;  my  old  crony  the  emperor  knows  his  man ;  so 
he  only  laughed  and  slapped  me  on  the  shoulder,  and  I  took 
his  arm,  and  we  sauntered  off  together  to  the  other  end  of  the 
grand  saloon.  I  think  I  was  in  my  hussar  uniform  ;  I  recollect 
that  evening  I  broke  my  quizzing  glass,  and  had  to  borrow  the 
Princess  of  Saxe  Blinkenberg's." 

"  Was  it  very  elegant — set  round  with  diamonds  ?"  asked 
Miss  Matilda  Bentlcy,  putting  up  to  her  face  a  hand  on  which 
glittered  a  valuable  brilliant. 

"  Quite  likely  it  was,  but  I  never  look  at  diamonds;  one  gets 
so  tired  of  them.  I  have  not  worn  any  of  mine  these  seven 
years;  I  often  joke  with  my  friend  Prince  Esterhazy  about 
his  diamond  coat,  that  he  will  persist  in  wearing  on  groat 
occasions.  Its  glitter  really  incommodes  my  eyes  when  he 
happens  to  be  near  me,  as  he  generally  is.  Whenever  he 
moves  you  may  track  him  by  the  gems  that  drop  from  it,  and 
you  may  hear  him  far  off  by  their  continual  tinkling  as  they 
fall." 

"  Only  listen  to  that,  Mr.  Smith,"  said  Aunt  Quiinby  aside 
to  her  protegee,  t(  I  do  not  believe  there  is  such  a  man  in  the 
world  as  that  Hester  Hazy  with  his  diamond  coat,  that  he's 
telling  all  this  rigmarole  about.  It  sounds  like  one  of  Mother 
Bunch's  talcs." 

"I  rather  think  there  is  such  a  man,"  said  Mr.  Smith. 

"  Nonsense,  Mr.  Smith,  why  you're  a  greater  goose  than  I 
supposed !" 

Mr.  Smith  assented  by  a  meek  bow. 

Dinner  was  now  announced.  The  gentlemen  conducted  the 
6* 


72  MR.    SMITH. 

ladies,  and  Aunt  Quimby  led  Mr.  Smith;  but  she  could  not 
prevail  on  him  to  take  a  seat  beside  her,  near  the  head  of  the 
table,  and  directly  opposite  to  the  Baron  and  his  party.  He 
humbly  insisted  on  finding  a  place  for  himself  very  low  down, 
and  seemed  glad  to  get  into  the  neighbourhood  of  Captain 
Cheston,  who  presided  at  the  foot. 

The  Blake  Bentley  party  all  levelled  their  glasses  at  Aunt 
Quimby }  but  the  old  lady  stood  fire  amazingly  well,  being 
busily  engaged  in  preparing  her  silk  gown  against  the  chance 
of  injury  from  any  possible  accident,  tucking  a  napkin  into 
her  belt,  pinning  a  pocket  handkerchief  across  the  body  of  her 
dress,  turning  up  her  cuffs,  and  tying  back  the  strings  of  her 
cap  to  save  the  ribbon  from  grease-spots. 

The  dinner  was  profuse,  excellent,  and  handsomely  arranged : 
and  for  a  while  most  of  the  company  were  too  earnestly  occu 
pied  in  satisfying  their  appetites  to  engage  much  in  conversa 
tion.  Aunt  Quimby  sent  a  waiter  to  Captain  Cheston  to  desire 
him  to  take  care  of  poor  Mr.  Smith  :  which  message  the  waiter 
thought  it  unnecessary  to  deliver. 

Mrs.  Blake  Bentley  and  her  daughter  Matilda  sat  one  on 
each  side  of  the  Baron,  and  showed  rather  more  assiduity  in 
helping  him  than  is  customary  from  ladies  to  gentlemen.  Also 
their  solicitude  in  anticipating  his  wants  was  a  work  of  super 
erogation,  for  the  Baron  could  evidently  take  excellent  care 
of  himself,  and  was  unremitting  in  his  applications  to  every 
one  round  him  for  everything  within  their  reach,  and  loud  and 
incessant  in  his  calls  to  the  waiters  for  clean  plates  and  clean 
glasses. 

"When  the  dessert  was  set  on,  and  the  flow  of  soul  was  suc 
ceeding  to  the  feast  which,  whether  of  reason  or  not,  had  been 
duly  honoured,  Mrs.  Quimby  found  leisure  to  look  round,  and 
resume  her  colloquy. 

"  I  believe,  madam,  your  name  is  Bentley,"  said  she  to  the 
lofty  looking  personage  directly  opposite. 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Blake  Bentley,"  was  the  reply,  with  an  impe 
rious  stare  that  was  intended  to  frown  down  all  further  attempts 
at  conversation.  But  Aunt  Quimby  did  not  comprehend  re 
pulsion,  and  had  never  been  silenced  in  her  life — so  she  pro 
ceeded — 

"  I  remember  your  husband  very  well.  He  was  a  son  of 
old  Benny  Bentley  up  Second  street,  that  used  to  keep  the 
sign  of  the  Adam  and  Eve,  but  afterwards  changed  it  to  the 
Liberty  Tree.  His  wit'.-  \va<  a  Blake — that  wa,s  the  way  your 


MR.    SMITH.  73 

husband  came  by  his  name.  Her  father  was  an  upholsterer, 
and  she  worked  at  the  trade  before  she  was  married.  She 
made  two  bolsters  and  three  pillows  for  me  at  different  times; 
though  I'm  not  quite  sure  it  was  not  two  pillows  and  three 
bolsters.  He  had  a  brother,  Billy  Blake,  that  was  a  painter : 
BO  he  must  have  been  your  husband's  uncle." 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Mrs.  Blake  Bentley,  "I  don't  under 
stand  what  you  are  talking  about.  But  I'm  very  sure  there 
were  never  any  artist  people  in  the  family." 

"  Oh !  Billy  Blake  was  a  painter  and  glazier  both,"  resumed 
Mrs.  Quimby ;  "  I  remember  him  as  well  as  if  he  was  my  own 
brother.  We  always  sent  for  him  to  mend  our  broken  windows. 
I  can  see  him  now — coming  with  his  glass  box  and  his  putty. 
Poor  fellow,  he  was  employed  to  put  a  new  coat  of  paint  on 
Christ  Church  steeple,  which  we  thought  would  be  a  good  job 
for  him  :  but  the  scaffold  gave  way  and  he  fell  down  and  broke 
his  leg.  We  lived  right  opposite,  and  saw  him  tumble.  It's  a 
mercy  he  wasn't  killed  right  out.  He  was  carried  home  on  a 
hand-barrow.  I  remember  the  afternoon  as  well  as  if  it  were 
yesterday.  We  had  a  pot-pie  for  dinner  that  day;  and  I 
happened  to  have  on  a  new  calico  gown,  a  green  ground  with 
a  yellow  sprig  in  it.  I  have  some  of  the  pieces  now  in  patch 
work." 

Mrs.  Blake  Bentley  gave  Mrs.  Quimby  a  look  of  unqualified 
disdain,  and  then  turning  to  the  baron,  whispered  him  to  say 
something  that  might  stop  the  mouth  of  that  abominable  old 
woman.  And  by  way  of  beginning  she  observed  aloud,  "  Baron; 
what  very  fine  plums  these  are  !" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  baron,  helping  himself  to  them  profusely, 
"  and  apropos  to  plums — one  day  when  I  happened  to  be  dining 
with  the  king  of  Prussia,  there  were  some  very  fine  peaches 
at  table  (we  were  sitting,  you  know,  trifling,  over  the  dessert), 
and  the  king  said  to  me,  "  Klingenberg,  niy  dear  fellow,  let's 
try  which  of  us  can  first  break  that  large  looking-glass  by 
shooting  a  peach-stone  at  it." 

"Dear  me!  what  a  king!"  interrupted  Mrs.  Quimby,  "and 
now  I  look  at  you  again,  sir  (there,  just  now,  with  your  head 
turned  to  the  light),  there's  something  in  your  face  that  puts 
me  in  mind  of  Jacob  Stimbel,  our  Dutch  young  man  that  used 
to  live  with  us  and  help  to  do  the  work.  Mr.  Quimby  bought 
him  at  the  wharf  out  of  a  redemptioner  ship.  He  was  to  serve 
us  three  years :  but  before  his  time  was  up  he  ran  away  (as 
they  often  do)  and  went  to  Lancaster,  and  set  up  his  old  trade 


74  MR.    SMITH. 

of  a  carpenter,  and  married  a  bricklayer's  daughter,  and  got 
rich  and  built  houses,  and  had  three  or  four  sous — I  think  I 
heard  that  one  of  them  turned  out  a  pretty  bad  fellow.  I  can 
see  Jake  Stimbel  now,  carrying  the  market-basket  after  me, 
or  scrubbing  the  pavement.  Whenever  I  look  at  you  I  think 
of  him ;  may  be  he  was  some  relation  of  yours,  as  you  both 
came  from  Germany  ?" 

"  A  relation  of  mine,  madam  !"  said  the  Baron. 

tl  There  now — there's  Jake  Stimbel  to  the  life.  He  had  just 
that  way  of  stretching  up  his  eyes  and  drawing  down  his  mouth 
when  he  did  not  know  what  to  say,  which  was  usually  the  case 
after  he  stayed  on  errands." 

The  baron  contracted  his  brows,  and  bit  in  his  lips. 

"Fix  your  face  as  you  will,"  continued  Mrs.  Quimby,  "you 
are  as  like  him  as  you  can  look.  I  am  sure  I  ought  to  re 
member  Jacob  Stimbel,  for  I  had  all  the  trouble  of  teaching 
him  to  do  his  work,  besides  learning  him  to  talk  American ; 
and  as  soon  as  he  had  learnt,  he  cleared  himself  off,  as  I  told 
you,  and  ran  away  from  us." 

The  baron  now  turned  to  Matilda  Bcntley,  and  endeavoured 
to  engage  her  attention  by  an  earnest  conversation  in  an  under 
tone  y  and  Mrs.  Bentley  looked  daggers  at  Aunt  Quimby,  who 
said  in  a  low  voice  to  a  lady  that  sat  next  to  her,  "  What  a  pity 
Mrs.  Bentley  has  such  a  violent  way  with  her  eyes.  She'd 
be  a  handsome  woman  if  it  was  not  for  that." 

Then  resuming  her  former  tone,  the  impenetrable  old  lady 
continued,  "Some  of  these  Dutch  people  that  came  over  Ger 
man  redemptioners,  and  were  sold  out  of  ships,  have  made  great 
fortunes;"  and  then  turning  to  a  lady  who  sat  on  the  other 
side,  she  proceeded  to  enumerate  various  wealthy  and  respect 
able  German  families  whose  grandfathers  and  grandmothers 
had  been  sold  out  of  ships.  Bromley  Chcston,  perceiving  that 
several  of  the  company  were  wincing  under  this  infliction, 
proposed  a  song  from  one  of  the  young  officers  whom  he  knew 
to  be  an  accomplished  vocalist.  This  song  was  succeeded  by 
several  others,  and  during  the  singing  the  Blake  Bentley  party 
gradually  slipped  away  from  the  table. 

After  dinner  the  company  withdrew  and  dispersed  them 
selves  among  the  trees,  while  the  servants,  &c.,  were  dining. 
Mrs.  Cheston  vainly  did  her  utmost  to  prevail  on  Aunt  Quim 
by  to  go  to  the  house  and  take  a  siesta.  "  What  for  ?"  said 
Mrs.  Quimby,  "  why  should  I  go  to  sleep  when  I  ain't  a  bit 
sleepy.  I  never  was  wid<5r  awake  in  my  life.  No,  no — these 


MR.    SMflPH.  75 

parties  don't  come  every  day ;  and  I'll  make  the  most  of  this 
now  I  have  had  the  good  luck  to  be  at  it.  But,  bless  me  ! 
now  I  think  of  it,  I  have  not  laid  eyes  on  Mr.  Smith  these 
two  hours — I  hope  he  is  not  lost.  When  did  he  leave  the 
table  ?  Who  saw  him  go  ?  He's  not  used  to  being  in  the 
woods,  poor  man  I" 

The  sound  of  the  tambourine  now  denoted  the  approach  of 
the  musicians,  and  the  company  adjourned  to  the  dancing 
ground,  which  was  a  wide  opening  in  the  woods  shaded  all 
round  with  fine  trees,  under  which  benches  had  been  placed. 
For  the  orchestra  a  little  wooden  gallery  had  been  erected 
about  eight  feet  from  the  ground,  running  round  the  trunk 
and  amid  the  spreading  boughs  of  an  immense  hickory. 

The  dancers  had  just  taken  their  places  for  the  first  set, 
when  they  were  startled  by  the  shrieks  of  a  woman,  which 
seemed  to  ascend  from  the  river-beach  below.  The  gentlemen 
and  many  of  the  ladies  ran  to  the  edge  of  the  bank  to  ascer 
tain  the  cause,  and  Aunt  Quimby,  looking  down  among  the 
first,  exclaimed,  "  Oh  !  mercy  !  if  there  isn't  Mr.  Smith  a  col 
laring  the  baron,  and  Miss  Matilda  a  screaming  for  dear  life  !" 

"  The  baron  collaring  Mr.  Smith,  you  mean/'  said  Myrtilla, 
approaching  the  bank. 

"No,  no — I  mean  as  I  say.  Why  who'd  think  it  was  in 
Mr.  Smith  to  do  such  a  thing !  Oh  !  see,  only  look  how  he 
shakes  him.  And  now  he  gives  him  a  kick,  only  think  of 
doing  all  that  to  a  baron  !  but  I  dare  say  he  deserves  it.  He 
looks  more  like  Jake  Stimbel  than  ever." 

Captain  Cheston  sprung  down  the  bank  (most  of  the  other 
gentlemen  running  after  him),  and  immediately  reaching  the 
scene  of  action  rescued  the  foreigner,  who  seemed  too  frightened 
to  oppose  any  effectual  resistance  to  his  assailant. 

"  Mr.  Smith,"  said  Captain  Cheston,  "  what  is  the  meaning 
of  this  outrage, — and  in  the  presence  of  a  lady,  too  !" 

"  The  lady  must  excuse  me,"  replied  Mr.  Smith,  "  for  it 
is  in  her  behalf  I  have  thus  forgotten  myself  so  far  as  to 
chastise  on  the  spot  a  contemptible  villain.  Let  us  convey  Miss 
Bentley  up  the  bank,  for  she  seems  greatly  agitated,  and  I  will 
then  explain  to  the  gentlemen  the  extraordinary  scene  they 
have  just  witnessed." 

"  Only  hear  Mr.  Smith,  how  he's  talking  out !"  exclaimed 
Aunt  Quimby.  "And  there's  the  baron-fellow  putting  up  his 
coat  collar  and  sneaking  off  round  the  corner  of  the  bank.  I'm 
so  glad  he's  turned  out  a  scamp  !" 


76  MR.    SMITH. 

Having  reached  the  top  of  the  bank,  Matilda  Bentley,  who 
had  nearly  fainted,  was  laid  on  a  bench  and  consigned  to  the 
care  of  her  mother  and  sisters.  A  flood  of  tears  came  to  her 
relief,  and  while  she  was  indulging  in  them,  Mrs.  Bentley 
joined  the  group  who  were  assembled  round  Mr.  Smith  and 
listening  to  his  narrative. 

Mr.  Smith  explained  that  he  knew  this  soi-disant  Baron 
Von  Klingenberg  to  be  an  impostor  and  a  swindler.  That  ho 
had,  some  years  since,  under  another  name,  made  his  appear 
ance  in  Paris,  as  an  American  gentleman  of  German  origin, 
and  large  fortune;  but  soon  gambled  away  all  his  money. 
That  he  afterwards,  under  different  appellations,  visited  the 
principal  cities  of  the  continent,  but  always  left  behind  the 
reputation  of  a  swindler.  That  he  had  seen  him  last  in  Lon 
don,  in  the  capacity  of  valet  to  the  real  Baron  Von  Klingen 
berg,  who,  intending  a  visit  to  the  United  States,  had  hired  him 
as  being  a  native  of  America,  and  familiar  with  the  country 
and  its  customs.  But  an  unforeseen  circumstance  having  in 
duced  that  gentleman  to  relinquish  this  transatlantic  voyage, 
his  American  valet  robbed  him  of  a  large  sum  of  money  and 
some  valuable  jewels,  stole  also  the  letters  of  introduction 
which  had  been  obtained  by  the  real  Baron,  and  with  them 
had  evidently  been  enabled  to  pass  himself  for  his  master. 
To  this  explanation,  Mr.  Smith  added  that  while  wandering 
among  the  trees  on  the  edge  of  the  bank,  he  had  seen  the  im 
postor  on  the  beach  below,  endeavouring  to  persuade  Miss 
Bentley  to  an  elopement  with  him ;  proposing  that  they  should 
repair  immediately  to  a  place  in  the  neighbourhood,  where  the 
railroad  cars  stopped  on  their  way  to  New  York,  and  from 
thence  proceed  to  that  city,  adding, — "  You  know  there  is  no 
overtaking  a  railroad  car,  so  all  pursuit  of  us  will  be  in  vain ; 
besides,  when  once  married  all  will  be  safe,  as  you  are  of  age 
and  mistress  of  your  own  fortune."  "  Finding,"  continued 
Mr.  Smith,  "  that  he  was  likely  to  succeed  in  persuading  Miss 
Bentley  to  accompany  him,  I  could  no  longer  restrain  my  in 
dignation,  which  prompted  me  to  rush  down  the  bank  and 
adopt  summary  measures  in  rescuing  the  young  lady  from  the 
hands  of  so  infamous  a  scoundrel,  whom  nothing  but  my  un 
willingness  to  disturb  the  company  prevented  me  from  expos 
ing  as  soon  as  I  saw  him." 

"Don't  believe  him,"  screamed  Mrs.  Blake  Bentley;  "Mr. 
Smith  indeed  !  Who  is  to  take  his  word  ?  Who  knows  what 
Mr.  Smith  is  ?" 


MR.    SMITH.  77 

"  I  do,"  said  a  voice  from  the  crowd ;  and  there  stepped 
forward  a  gentlemen,  who  had  arrived  in  a  chaise  with  a  friend 
about  half  an  hour  before.  "  I  had  the  pleasure  of  knowing 
him  intimately  in  England,  when  I  was  minister  to  the  court 
of  St.  James's." 

"  May  be  you  bought  your  tins  at  his  shop/'  said  Aunt 
Quimby. 

The  ex-ambassador  in  a  low  voice  exchanged  a  few  words 
with  Mr.  Smith ;  and  then  taking  his  hand,  presented  him  as 
the  Earl  of  Huntingford,  adding,  "  The  only  tin  he  deals  in  is 
that  produced  by  his  extensive  mines  in  Cornwall." 

The  whole  company  were  amazed  into  a  silence  of  some 
moments :  after  which  there  was  a  general  buzz  of  favourable 
remark ;  Captain  Cheston  shook  hands  with  him,  and  all  the 
gentlemen  pressed  forward  to  be  more  particularly  introduced 
to  Lord  Huntingford. 

"  Dear  me  !"  said  Aunt  Quimby ;  "  to  think  that  I  should 
have  been  so  sociable  with  a  lord — and  a  real  one  too — and  to 
think  how  he  drank  tea  at  Billy  Fairfowl's  in  the  back  par 
lour,  and  ate  bread  and  butter  just  like  any  other  man — and 
how  he  saved  Jane,  and  picked  up  Johnny — I  suppose  I  must 
not  speak  to  you  now,  Sir.  Smith,  for  I  don't  know  how  to 
begin  calling  you  my  lord.  And  you  don't  seem  like  the  same 
man,  now  that  you  can  look  and  talk  like  other  people  :  and 
(excuse  my  saying  so)  even  your  dress  looks  genteeler." 

"  Call  me  still  Mr.  Smith,  if  you  choose,"  replied  Lord 
Huntingford;  and,  turning  to  Captain  Cheston,  he  continued 
— a  Under  that  name  I  have  had  opportunities  of  obtaining 
much  knowledge  of  your  unique  and  interesting  country : — 
knowledge  that  will  be  useful  to  me  all  the  remainder  of 
my  life,  and  that  I  could  not  so  well  have  acquired  in  my  real 
character." 

He  then  explained,  that  being  tired  of  travelling  in  Europe, 
and  having  an  earnest  desire  to  see  America  thoroughly,  and 
more  particularly  to  become  acquainted  with  the  state  of  society 
among  the  middle  classes  (always  the  truest  samples  of  national 
character),  he  had,  on  taking  his  passage  in  one  of  the  Liver 
pool  packets,  given  his  name  as  Smith,  and  put  on  the  appear 
ance  of  a  man  in  very  common  life,  resolving  to  preserve  his 
incognito  as  long  as  he  could.  His  object  being  to  observe 
and  to  listen,  and  fearing  that  if  he  talked  much  he  might  in 
advertently  betray  himself,  he  endeavoured  to  acquire  a  habit 
of  taciturnity.  As  is  frequently  the  case,  he  rather  overdid 


78  MR.    SMITH. 

his  assumed  character :  and  was  much  amused  at  perceiving 
himself  rated  somewhat  below  mediocrity,  and  regarded  as  poor 
Mr.  Smith. 

"But  where  is  that  Baron  fellow?"  said  Mrs.  Quimby;  "I 
dare  say  he  has  sneaked  off  and  taken  the  railroad  himself, 
while  we  were  all  busy  about  Lord  Smith." 

"He  has — he  has!"  sobbed  Miss  Bcntley;  who  in  spite  of 
her  grief  and  mortification,  had  joined  the  group  that  surrounded 
the  English  nobleman;  "and  he  has  run  away  with  my  beauti 
ful  diamond  ring." 

"  Did  he  steal  it  from  your  finger  ?"  asked  Aunt  Quimby,  ea 
gerly  ;  "  because  if  he  did,  you  can  send  a  constable  after  him." 

"  I  shall  do  no  such  thing,"  replied  Matilda,  tartly ;  then 
turning  to  her  mother  she  added,  "  It  was  when  we  first  went 
to  walk  by  the  river  side.  He  took  my  hand  and  kissed  it,  and 
proposed  exchanging  rings — and  so  I  let  him  have  it — and  he 
said  he  did  not  happen  to  have  any  ring  of  his  own  about  him, 
but  he  would  give  me  a  magnificent  one  that  had  been  pre 
sented  to  him  by  some  emperor  or  king." 

"Now  I  think  of  it,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bentley,  "he  never 
gave  me  back  my  gold  essence-bottle  with  the  emerald  stopper." 

"Now  I  remember,"  said  Miss  Turretville,  "he  did  not 
return  me  the  beautiful  fan  he  took  out  of  my  hand  the  other 
evening  at  Mrs.  De  Mingle's.  And  I  doubt  also  if  he  restored 
her  diamond  opera  glass  to  the  Princess  of  Saxe  Blinkinberg." 

"  The  Princess  of  Saxe  Fiddlestick  !"  exclaimed  Aunt  Quim 
by  ;  "  do  you  suppose  he  ever  really  had  anything  to  do  with 
such  people  ?  Between  ourselves,  I  thought  it  was  all  fudge 
the  whole  time  he  was  trying  to  make  us  believe  he  was  hand 
and  glove  with  women  that  had  crowns  on  their  heads,  and 
men  with  diamond  coats,  and  kings  that  shot  peach  stones. 
The  more  he  talked,  the  more  he  looked  like  Jacob  Stimbel — 
I'm  not  apt  to  forget  people,  so  it  would  be  strange  if  I  did 
not  remember  our  Jake ;  and  I  never  saw  a  greater  likeness." 

"  Well,  for  my  part,"  said  Miss  Turretville,  candidly,  "  I 
really  did  think  he  had  serfs,  and  a  castle  with  ramparts,  and 
I  did  believe  in  the  banditti,  and  the  captain  just  like  Charles 
De  Moor.  And  I  grieved,  as  I  often  do,  that  here,  in  America, 
we  had  no  such  things." 

"  Pity  we  should  !"  remarked  Aunt  Quimby. 

To  be  brief :  the  Bentleys,  after  what  had  passed,  thought  it 
best  to  order  their  carriage  and  return  to  the  city :  and  on 
their  ride  home  there  was  much  recrimination  between  the 


MB.    SMITH.  79 

lady  and  her  eldest  daughter;  Matilda  declaring,  that  she 
would  never  have  thought  of  encouraging  the  addresses  of  such 
an  ugly  fellow  as  the  baron,  had  not  her  mother  first  put  it 
into  her  head.  And  as  to  the  projected  elopement,  she  felt 
very  certain  of  being  forgiven  for  that  as  soon  as  she  came  out 
a  baroness. 

After  the  departure  of  the  Bentleys,  and  when  the  excitement, 
caused  by  the  events  immediately  preceding  it,  had  somewhat 
subsided,  it  was  proposed  that  the  dancing  should  be  resumed, 
and  Lord  Huntingford  opened  the  ball  with  Mrs.  Cheston, 
and  proved  that  he  could  dance,  and  talk,  and  look  extremely 
well.  As  soon  as  she  was  disengaged,  he  solicited  Myrtilla' s 
hand  for  the  next  set,  and  she  smilingly  assented  to  his  request. 
Before  they  began,  Aunt  Quiniby  took  an  opportunity  of  say 
ing  to  her :  "  Well,  Myrtilla ;  after  all  you  are  going  to  exhibit 
yourself,  as  you  call  it,  with  Mr.  Smith." 

"  Oh !  Aunt  Quimby,  you  must  not  remember  anything 
that  was  said  about  him  while  he  was  incog — " 

"Yes,  and  now  he's  out  of  cog  it's  thought  quite  an  honour 
to  get  a  word  or  a  look  from  him.  Well — well — whether  as 
poor  simple  Mr.  Smith,  or  a  great  lord  that  owns  whole  tin 
mines,  he'll  always  find  me  exactly  the  same ;  now  I've  got 
over  the  first  flurry  of  his  being  found  out." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  that,  Aunt  Quimby,"  replied  Myrtilla, 
giving  her  hand  to  Lord  Huntingford,  who  just  then  came  up 
to  lead  her  to  the  dance. 

The  afternoon  passed  rapidly  away,  with  infinite  enjoy 
ment  to  the  whole  company;  all  of  whom  seemed  to  feel 
relieved  by  the  absence  of  the  Blake  Bentley  party.  Aunt 
Quimby  was  very  assiduous  in  volunteering  to  introduce  ladies 
to  Lord  Smith,  as  she  called  him,  and  chaperoned  him  more 
than  ever. 

The  Chestons,  perfectly  aware  that  if  Mrs.  Quimby  returned 
to  Philadelphia,  and  proceeded  to  Baltimore  under  the  escort 
of  Mr.  Smith,  she  would  publish  all  along  the  road  that  he 
was  a  lord,  and  perhaps  convert  into  annoyance  the  amuse 
ment  he  seemed  to  find  in  her  entire  want  of  tact,  persuaded 
her  to  defer  the  Baltimore  journey  and  pass  a  few  days  with 
them ;  promising  to  provide  her  with  an  escort  there,  in  the 
person  of  an  old  gentleman  of  their  neighbourhood,  who  was 
going  to  the  south  early  next  week ;  and  whom  they  knew  to 
be  one  of  the  mildest  men  in  the  world,  and  never  incommoded 
by  anything. 


80  MR.    SMITH. 

When  the  fete  was  over,  Lord  Huntingford  returned  to  the 
city  with  his  friend,  the  ex-minister.  At  parting,  he  warmly 
expressed  his  delight  at  having  had  an  opportunity  of  becom 
ing  acquainted  with  Captain  Cheston  and  his  ladies;  and  Aunt 
Quimby  exclaimed,  "  It's  all  owing  to  me — if  it  had  not  been 
for  me  you  might  never  have  known  them ;  I  always  had  the 
character  of  bringing  good  luck  to  people :  so  it's  no  wonder 
I'm  so  welcome  everywhere." 

On  Captain  Cheston's  next  visit  to  Philadelphia,  he  gathered 
that  the  fictitious  Baron  Yon  Klingenberg  was  really  the 
reprobate  son  of  Jacob  Stimbel  of  Lancaster,  and  had  been 
recognised  as  such  by  a  gentleman  from  that  place.  That  he 
had  many  years  before  gone  to  seek  his  fortune  in  Europe, 
with  the  wreck  of  some  property  left  him  by  his  father;  where 
(as  Lord  Huntingford  had  stated)  he  had  last  been  seen  in 
London  in  the  capacity  of  a  valet  to  a  German  nobleman ;  and 
that  now  he  had  departed  for  the  west,  with  the  design,  as  was 
supposed,  of  gambling  his  way  to  New  Orleans.  Nothing 
could  exceed  the  delight  of  Aunt  Quirnby  on  finding  her  im 
pression  of  him  so  well  corroborated. 

The  old  lady  went  to  Baltimore,  and  found  herself  so  happy 
with  her  dear  crony  Mrs.  Bagnell,  that  she  concluded  to  take  up 
her  permanent  residence  with  her  on  the  same  terms  on  which 
she  lived  at  her  son-in-law  Billy  Fairf owl's,  whose  large  family 
of  children  had,  to  say  the  truth,  latterly  caused  her  some  in 
convenience  by  their  number  and  their  noise ;  particularly  as 
one  of  the  girls  was  growing  up  so  like  her  grandmother,  as 
to  out-talk  her.  Aunt  Quimby's  removal  from  Philadelphia 
to  Baltimore  was,  of  course,  a  sensible  relief  to  the  Chestons. 

Lord  Huntingford  (relinquishing  the  name  and  character 
of  Mr.  Smith)  devoted  two  years  to  making  the  tour  of  the 
United  States,  including  a  visit  to  Canada ;  justly  believing 
that  he  could  not  in  less  time  accomplish  his  object  of  becom 
ing  well  acquainted  with  the  country  and  the  people.  On  his 
return  through  the  Atlantic  cities,  he  met  with  Captain  Cheston 
at  Norfolk,  where  he  had  just  brought  in  his  ship  from  a  cruise 
in  the  Pacific.  Both  gentlemen  were  glad  to  renew  their 
acquaintance;  and  they  travelled  together  to  Philadelphia, 
where  they  found  Mrs.  Cheston  and  Myrtilla  waiting  to  meet 
the  captain. 

Lord  Huntingford  became  a  constant  visiter  at  the  house  of 
the  Chestons.  He  found  Myrtilla  improved  in  beauty,  and  as 
he  thought  in  everything  else,  and  he  felt  that  in  all  his  travels 


MR.    SMITH.  81 

through  Europe  and  America,  he  had  met  with  no  woman  so 
well  calculated  to  insure  his  happiness  in  married  life.  The 
sister  of  Captain  Cheston  was  too  good  a  republican  to  marry 
a  foreigner  and  a  nobleman,  merely  on  account  of  his  rank  and 
title :  but  Lord  Huntingford,  as  a  man  of  sense,  feeling,  and 
unblemished  morality,  was  one  of  the  best  specimens  of  his 
class,  and  after  an  intimate  acquaintance  of  two  months,  she 
consented  to  become  his  countess.  They  were  married  a  few 
days  before  their  departure  for  England,  where  Captain  and 
Mrs.  Cheston  promised  to  make  them  a  visit  the  ensuing 
spring. 

Emily  Atwood  and  Mr.  Symmington  were  bridesmaid  and 
groomsman,  and  were  themselves  united  the  following  month. 
Miss  Turretville  made  a  very  advantageous  match,  and  has 
settled  down  into  a  rational  woman  and  a  first-rate  housewife. 
The  Miss  Bentleys  are  all  single  yet;  but  their  mother  is 
married  to  an,  Italian  singer,  who  is  dissipating  her  property  as 
fast  as  he  can,  and  treating  her  ill  all  the  time. 

While  in  Philadelphia,  Lord  Huntingford  did  not  forget  to 
visit  occasionally  his  early  acquaintance,  Mr.  William  Fair- 
fowl  (who  always  received  him  as  if  he  was  still  Mr.  Smith), 
and  on  leaving  the  city  he  presented  an  elegant  little  souvenir 
to  Mrs.  Fairfowl,  and  one  to  each  of  her  daughters. 

At  Lord  Huntingford' s  desire,  Mrs.  Quimby  was  invited 
from  Baltimore  to  be  present  at  his  wedding  (though  the  com 
pany  was  small  and  select),  and  she  did  honour  to  the  occa 
sion  by  wearing  an  entirely  new  gown  and  cap,  telling  the 
cost  of  them  to  every  person  in  the  room,  but  declaring  she 
did  not  grudge  it  in  the  least ;  and  assuming  to  herself  the 
entire  credit  of  the  match,  which  she  averred  never  would  have 
taken  place  if  she  had  not  happened  to  come  up  the  river, 
instead  of  going  down. 

The  events  connected  with  the  pic-nic  day,  had  certainly  one 
singular  effect  on  Aunt  Quimby,  who  from  that  time  protested 
that  she  always  thought  of  a  nobleman  whenever  she  heard  the 
name  of  Smith. 

Could  all  our  readers  give  in  their  experience  of  the  numer 
ous  Smiths  they  must  have  known  and  heard  of,  would  not 
many  be  found  who,  though  bearing  that  trite  appellation, 
were  noblemen  of  nature's  own  making  ? 


UNCLE    PHILIP. 


"  Out  spake  that  ancient  mariner." — COLERIDGE. 

WE  will  not  be  particular  in  designating  the  exact  site  of 
the  flourishing  village  of  Corinth ;  neither  would  we  advise 
any  of  our  readers  to  take  the  trouble  of  seeking  it  on  the 
map.  It  is  sufficient  to  tell  them  that  they  may  consider  it 
located  on  one  of  the  banks  of  the  Hudson,  somewhere  above 
the  city  of  New  York,  and  somewhere  below  that  of  Albany ; 
and  that,  more  than  twenty  years  ago,  the  Clavering  family 
occupied  one  of  the  best  houses  at  its  southern  extremity. 

Mrs.  Clavering  was  the  widow  of  a  storekeeper,  who  had 
always,  by  courtesy,  been  called  a  merchant,  according  to  a 
prevailing  custom  in  the  provincial  towns  of  America.  Her 
husband  had  left  her  in  affluent  circumstances,  and  to  each  of 
her  five  children  he  had  bequeathed  a  sufficient  portion  to  fur 
nish,  when  they  came  of  age,  an  outfit  for  the  girls  and  a 
beginning  for  the  boys.  Added  to  this,  they  had  considerable 
expectations  from  an  uncle  of  their  mother's,  a  retired  sea- 
captain,  and  a  confirmed  old  bachelor,  who  had  long  been  in 
the  practice  of  paying  the  family  an  annual  visit  on  returning 
from  his  India  voyages.  He  had  become  so  much  attached  to 
the  children,  that  when  he  quitted  the  sea  (which  was  soon 
after  the  death  of  Mr.  Clavering)  he  had,  at  the  request  of 
his  niece,  removed  to  Corinth,  and  taken  up  his  residence  in 
her  family. 

Though  so  far  from  his  beloved  element,  the  ocean,  Captain 

Kentledge  managed  to  pass  his  time  very  contentedly,  taking 

occasional  trips  down  the  river  to   New  York  (particularly 

when  a  new  ship  was  to  be  launched),  and  performing,  every 

(82) 


UNCLE   PHILIP.  83 

summer,  an  excursion  to  the  eastward :  keeping  closely  along 
the  coast,  and  visiting  in  turn  every  maritime  town  and  vil 
lage  from  Newport  to  Portland ;  never  omitting  to  diverge  off 
to  Nantucket,  which  was  his  native  place,  and  from  whence, 
when  a  boy,  he  had  taken  his  first  voyage  in  a  whale  ship. 

Uncle  Philip  (for  so  Captain  Kentledge  was  familiarly  called 
by  Mrs.  Clavering  and  her  children)  was  a  square-built  man, 
with  a  broad  weather-beaten  face,  and  features  the  reverse  of 
classical.  His  head  was  entirely  bald,  with  the  exception  of 
two  rough  side-locks,  and  a  long  thin  gray  tress  of  hair, 
gathered  into  a  queue,  and  secured  with  black  ribbon.  Uncle 
Philip  was  very  tenacious  of  his  queue. 

Like  most  seamen  when  on  shore,  he  was  singularly  neat  in 
his  dress.  He  wore,  all  the  year  round,  a  huge  blue  coat, 
immense  blue  trowsers,  and  a  white  waistcoat  of  ample  dimen 
sions,  the  whole  suit  being  decorated  with  gold  buttons ;  for, 
as  he  observed,  he  had,  in  the  course  of  his  life,  worn  enough 
of  brass  buttons  to  be  heartily  tired  of  them :  gilt  ones  he 
hated,  because  they  were  shams ;  and  gold  he  could  very  well 
afford,  and  therefore  it  was  his  pleasure  to  have  them.  His 
cravat  was  a  large  black  silk  handkerchief,  tied  in  front,  with 
a  spreading  bow  and  long  ends.  His  shirt  frill  was  particu 
larly  conspicuous  and  amazingly  broad,  and  it  was  fastened 
with  a  large  oval-shaped  brooch,  containing  under  its  glass  a 
handsome  hair-coloured  device  of  Hope  leaning  on  an  anchor. 
He  never  wore  boots,  but  always  white  stockings  and  well- 
blacked  long-quartered  shoes.  His  hat  had  both  a  wide  crown 
and  a  wide  brim.  Every  part  of  his  dress  was  good  in  quality 
and  large  in  quantity,  denoting  that  he  was  above  economizing 
in  the  material. 

Though  "  every  inch  a  sailor/7  it  must  not  be  supposed  that 
Captain  Kentledge  was  in  the  constant  habit  of  interlarding 
his  conversation  with  sea-terms ;  a  practice  which,  if  it  ever 
actually  prevailed  to  the  extent  that  has  been  represented  in 
fictitious  delineations  of  "  the  sons  of  the  wild  and  warring 
wave,"  has  long  since  been  discontinued  in  real  life,  by  all 
nautical  men  who  have  any  pretensions  to  the  title  of  gentle 
men.  A  sea-captain,  whose  only  phraseology  was  that  of  the 
forecastle,  and  who  could  talk  of  nothing  without  reference  to 
the  technical  terms  of  his  profession,  would  now  be  considered 
as  obsolete  a  character  "  as  the  Lieutenant  Bowlings  and  Com 
modore  Trunnions  of  the  last  century." 

Next  to  the  children  of  his  niece,  the  object  most  beloved 
7* 


84  UNCLE   PHILIP. 

by  Uncle  Philip  was  an  enormous  Newfoundland  dog,  the 
companion  of  his  last  voyages,  and  his  constant  attendant  on 
land  and  on  water,  in  doors  and  out  of  doors.  In  the  faces  of 
Neptune  and  his  master  there  was  an  obvious  resemblance, 
which  a  physiognomist  would  have  deduced  from  the  similarity 
of  their  characters ;  and  it  was  remarked  by  one  of  the  wags 
of  the  village  that  the  two  animals  walked  exactly  alike,  and 
held  out  their  paws  to  strangers  precisely  in  the  same  manner. 

Mrs.  Clavering,  as  is  generally  the  case  with  mothers  of  the 
present  day,  when  they  consider  themselves  very  genteel, 
intended  one  of  her  sons  for  the  profession  of  physic,  and  the 
other  for  that  of  law.  But  in  the  mean  time,  Uncle  Philip 
had  so  deeply  imbued  Sam,  the  eldest,  with  a  predilection  for 
the  sea,  that  the  boy's  sole  ambition  was  to  unite  himself  to 
that  hardy  race,  (( whose  march  is  o'er  the  mountain-waves, 
whose  home  is  on  the  deep."  And  Dick,  whom  his  mother 
designed  for  a  lawyer,  intended  himself  for  a  carpenter :  his 
genius  pointing  decidedly  to  hand-work  rather  than  to  head- 
work.  It  was  Uncle  Philip's  opinion  that  boys  should  never 
be  controlled  in  the  choice  of  a  profession.  Yet  he  found  it 
difficult  to  convince  Mrs.  Clavering  that  there  was  little  chance 
of  one  of  her  sons  filling  a  professor's  chair  at  a  medical  col 
lege,  or  of  the  other  arriving  at  the  rank  of  chief  justice ;  but 
that  as  the  laws  of  nature  and  the  decrees  of  fate  were  not  to 
be  reversed,  Dick  would  very  probably  build  the  ships  that 
Sam  would  navigate. 

About  three  months  before  the  period  at  which  our  story 
commences,  Uncle  Philip  had  set  out  on  his  usual  summer 
excursion,  and  had  taken  with  him  not  only  Neptune,  but 
Sam  also,  leaving  Dick  very  much  engaged  in  making  a  new 
kitchen-table  with  a  drawer  at  each  end.  After  the  travellers 
had  gone  as  far  as  the  State  of  Maine,  and  were  supposed  to 
be  on  their  return,  Mrs.  Clavering  was  surprised  to  receive  a 
letter  from  Uncle  Philip,  dated  "  Off  Cape  Cod,  lat,  42,  Ion. 
69,  wind  N.N.E."  The  following  were  the  words  of  this 
epistle  : — 

"  DEAR  NIECE  KITTY  CLAVERING  :  I  take  this  opportunity 
of  informing  you,  by  a  fishing-boat  that  is  just  going  into  the 
harbour,  that  being  on  Long  Wharf,  Boston,  yesterday  at  7 
A.  M.,  and  finding  there  the  schooner  Winthrop  about  to  sail 
for  Cuba,  and  the  schooner  being  commanded  by  a  son  of  my 
old  ship-mate,  Ben  Binnacle,  and  thinking  it  quite  time  that 


UNCLE   PHILIP.  85 

Sam  should  begin  to  see  the  world  (as  he  was  fifteen  the  first 
of  last  April),  and  that  so  good  an  opportunity  should  not  be 
lost,  I  concluded  to  let  him  have  a  taste  of  the  sea  by  giving 
him  a  run  down  to  the  West  Indies.  Sam  was  naturally  very 
glad,  and  so  was  Neptune ;  and  Sam  being  under  my  care,  I, 
of  course,  felt  in  duty  bound  to  go  along  with  him.  The 
schooner  Winthrop  is  as  fine  a  sea-boat  as  ever  swam,  and 
young  Ben  Binnacle  is  as  clever  a  fellow  as  his  father.  We 
are  very  well  off  for  hands,  the  crew  being  young  Ben's  bro 
ther  and  three  of  his  cousins  (all  from  Marblehead,  and  all 
part  owners),  besides  Sam  and  myself,  and  Neptune,  and 
black  Bob,  the  cabin-boy.  So  you  have  nothing  to  fear.  And 
even  if  we  should  have  a  long  passage,  there  is  no  danger  of 
our  starving,  for  most  of  the  cargo  is  pork  and  onions,  and  the 
rest  is  turkeys,  potatoes,  flour,  butter,  and  cheese. 

"  You  may  calculate  on  finding  Sam  greatly  improved  by 
the  voyage.  Going  to  sea  will  cure  him  of  all  his  awkward 
tricks,  as  you  call  them,  and  give  him  an  opportunity  of 
showing  what  he  really  is.  He  went  out  of  Boston  harbour 
perched  on  the  end  of  the  foresail  boom,  and  was  at  the  main 
mast  head  before  we  had  cleared  the  lighthouse.  To-morrow 
I  shall  teach  him  to  take  an  observation.  Young  Ben  Bin 
nacle  has  an  excellent  quadrant  that  was  his  father's.  We 
shall  be  back  in  a  few  weeks,  arid  bring  you  pine-apples  and 
parrots.  Shall  write  from  Havana,  if  I  have  time. 
"  Till  then,  yours, 

"  PHILIP  KENTLEDGE. 

"  P.  S.  Neptune  is  very  happy  at  finding  himself  at  sea 
again.  Give  our  love  to  Dick  and  the  girls. 

"  N.  B.  We  took  care  to  have  our  trunk  brought  on  board 
before  we  got  under  way.  Though  we  have  a  stiff  breeze, 
Sam  is  not  yet  sea-sick,  having  set  his  face  against  it. 

"2d  P.  S.  Don't  take  advantage  of  my  absence  to  put  the 
girls  in  corsets,  as  you  did  when  I  was  away  last  summer. 

"  2d  N.  B.  Remember  to  send  old  Tom  Tarpaulin  his 
weekly  allowance  of  tobacco  all  the  time  I  am  gone.  You 
know  I  promised,  when  I  first  found  him  at  Corinth,  to  keep 
him  in  tobacco  as  long  as  he  lived ;  and  if  you  forget  to  fur 
nish  it  punctually,  the  poor  fellow  will  be  obliged  to  take  his 
own  money  to  buy  it  with." 

This  elopement,  as  Mrs.  Clavering  called  it,  caused  at  first 


86  UNCLE   PHILIP. 

great  consternation  in  the  family,  but  she  soon  consoled  her 
self  with  the  idea  that  'twas  well  it  was  no  worse,  for  if  Uncle 
Philip  had  found  a  vessel  going  to  China,  commanded  by  an 
old  ship-mate,  or  a  ship-mate's  son,  he  would  scarcely  have 
hesitated  to  have  acted  as  he  had  done  in  this  instance.  The 
two  younger  girls  grieved  that  in  all  probability  Sam  had  gone 
without  gingerbread,  which,  they  had  heard,  was  a  preventive 
to  sea-sickness ;  but  Fanny,  the  elder,  remarked  that  it  was 
more  probable  he  had  his  pockets  full,  as,  from  Uncle  Philip's 
account,  he  continued  perfectly  well.  "Whatever  Uncle 
Philip  may  say/'  observed  Fanny,  very  judiciously,  "  Sam 
must,  of  course,  have  known  that  gingerbread  is  a  more  cer 
tain  remedy  for  sea-sickness  than  merely  setting  one's  face 
against  it."  Dick's  chief  regret  was,  that  not  knowing  be 
forehand  of  their  trip  to  the  West  Indies,  he  had  lost  the 
opportunity  of  sending  by  them  for  some  mahogany. 

In  about  four  weeks,  the  Clavering  family  was  set  at  ease 
by  a  letter  from  Sam  himself,  dated  Havana.  It  detailed  at 
full  length  the  delights  of  the  voyage,  and  the  various  quali 
fications  of  black  Bob,  the  cabin-boy,  and  it  was  finished  by 
two  postscripts  from  Uncle  Philip  •  one  celebrating  the  rapid 
progress  of  Sam  in  nautical  knowledge,  and  another  stating 
that  they  should  return  in  the  schooner  Winthrop. 

They  did  return — Uncle  Philip  bringing  with  him,  among 
other  West  India  productions,  a  barrel  of  pine-apples  for  Mrs. 
Clavering,  and  three  parrots,  one  for  each  of  his  young  nieces ; 
to  all  of  whom  he  observed  the  strictest  impartiality  in  dis 
tributing  his  favours.  Also,  a  large  box  for  Dick,  filled  with 
numerous  specimens  of  tropical  woods. 

It  was  evening  when  they  arrived  at  Corinth,  and  they 
walked  up  directly  from  the  steamboat  wharf  to  Mrs.  Claver- 
ing's  house ;  leaving  their  baggage  to  follow  in  a  cart.  In 
tending  to  give  the  family  a  pleasant  surprise,  they  stole  cau 
tiously  in  at  the  gate,  and  walked  on  the  grass  to  avoid  making 
a  noise  with  their  shoes  on  the  gravel.  As  usual  at  this  hour, 
a  light  shone  through  the  Venetian  shutters  of  the  parlour- 
windows.  But  our  voyagers  listened  in  vain  for  the  well- 
known  sounds  of  noisy  mirth  excited  by  the  enjoyment  of 
various  little  games  and  plays  in  which  it  was  usual  for  the 
children  to  pass  the  interval  between  tea  and  bed-time;  a 
laudable  custom,  instituted  by  Uncle  Philip  soon  after  he 
became  one  of  the  family. 

"I  hope  all  may  be  right,"  whispered  the  old  captain,  as 


UNCLE   PHILIP.  87 

he  ascended  the  steps  of  the  front  porch,  "  I  don't  hear  the 
least  sound/' 

They  sat  down  the  three  parrot-cages,  which  they  had 
carried  themselves  from  the  wharf,  and  then  went  up  to  the 
windows  and  reconnoitered  through  the  shutters.  They  saw 
the  whole  family  seated  round  the  table,  busily  employed  with 
books  and  writing  materials,  and  all  perfectly  silent.  Uncle 
Philip  now  hastily  threw  open  the  front  door,  and,  followed 
by  Sam,  made  his  appearance  in  the  parlour,  exclaiming — 

"  Why,  what  is  all  this  ?  Not  hearing  any  noise  as  we 
came  along,  we  concluded  there  must  be  sickness,  or  death  in 
the  house." 

"We  are  not  dead  yet,"  said  Dick,  starting  up,  "though  we 


are  learning:  French." 


In  an  instant  the  books  were  abandoned,  the  table  nearly 
overset  in  getting  from  behind  it,  and  the  whole  group  hung 
round  the  voyagers,  delighted  at  their  return,  and  overwhelm 
ing  them  with  questions  and  caresses.  In  a  moment  there 
came  prancing  into  the  room  the  dog  Neptune,  who  had 
remained  behind  to  guard  the  baggage-cart,  which  had  now 
arrived  at  the  front  gate.  The  faithful  animal  was  literally 
received  with  open  arms  by  all  the  children,  and  when  he  had 
nearly  demolished  little  Anne  by  the  roughness  of  his  gambols, 
she  only  exclaimed — "  Oh  !  never  mind — never  mind.  I  am 
so  glad  to  have  Neptune  back  again,  that  I  don't  care,  if  he 
does  tear  my  new  pink  frock  all  to  tatters." 

Mrs.  Clavering  made  a  faint  attempt  at  reproaching  Uncle 
Philip  for  thus  stealing  a  march  and  carrying  off  her  son,  but 
the  old  captain  turned  it  all  into  a  sjJMect  of  merriment,  and 
pointed  out  to  her  Sam's  ruddy  looflWmd  improved  height; 
and  his  good  fortune  in  having  a  brown  skin,  which,  on  being 
exposed  to  the  air  and  sun  of  the  ocean,  only  deepened  its 
manly  tint,  instead  of  being  disfigured  by  freckles.  On  Mrs. 
Clavering  remarking  that  her  poor  boy  had  learnt  the  true 
balancing  gait  of  a  sailor,  the  uncle  and  nephew  exchanged 
glances  of  congratulation ;  and  Sam,  in  the  course  of  the  even 
ing,  took  frequent  occasions  to  get  up  and  walk  across  the 
room,  by  way  of  displaying  this  new  accomplishment. 

As  Mrs.  Clavering  understood  that  her  uncle  and  son  had 
not  yet  had  their  supper,  she  quitted  the  room  "  on  hospitable 
thoughts  intent,"  while  the  children  were  listening  with 
breathless  interest  to  a  minute  detail  of  the  voyage;  Sam 
leaning  over  the  back  of  his  uncle's  great  chair,  into  which 


88  UNCLE   PHILIP. 

Fanny  had  squeezed  herself  beside  the  old  gentleman,  who 
held  Jane  on  one  knee  and  Anne  on  the  other;  and  Dick 
making  a  seat  of  the  dog  Neptune,  who  lay  at  his  master's  feet. 

"  Who  are  those  people  talking  in  the  porch  ?"  asked  little 
Anne,  interrupting  her  uncle  to  listen  to  the  strange  sounds 
that  issued  from  without. 

"  Oh  !  they  are  the  parrots,"  said  Sam,  laughing,  "  I  wonder 
they  should  have  been  forgotten  so  long." 

"  Parrots  I"  exclaimed  all  the  children  at  once,  and  in  a 
moment  every  one  of  the  young  people  were  out  in  the  porch, 
and  the  cages  were  carried  into  the  parlour.  The  parrots  were 
duly  admired,  and  made  to  go  through  all  their  phrases,  of 
which  (being  very  smart  parrots)  they  had  learnt  an  infinite 
variety,  and  Uncle  Philip  told  the  girls  to  draw  lots  for  the 
first  choice  of  these  new  pets.  Dick  supplying  for  that  purpose 
little  sticks  of  unequal  lengths.  After  this  the  box  of  tropical 
woods  was  opened,  and  Dick's  happiness  became  too  great  for 
utterance. 

Supper  was  now  brought  in,  and  placed  by  Mrs.  Clavering's 
order  on  a  little  table  in  the  corner,  it  not  being  worth  while, 
as  she  said,  to  remove  the  books  and  writing  apparatus  from 
the  centre-table,  as  the  lessons  must  be  shortly  resumed. 

"  What  lessons  are  these/'  said  Uncle  Philip,  "  on  which 
you  seem  so  intent  ?  Before  I  went  away  there  was  no  lesson- 
learning  of  evenings.  Have  Mr.  Fuliner  and  Miss  Hickman 
adopted  a  new  plan  ?  I  think,  children,  I  have  heard  you  say 
that  your  lessons  were  very  short,  and  that  you  always  learned 
them  in  school,  which  was  one  reason,  why  I  approved  of  Mr. 
Fulmer  for  the  boys,  ajfcfliss  Hickman  for  the  girls.  I  never 
could  bear  the  idea  of  ^or  children  being  forced  to  spend  their 
play-time  in  learning  lessons.  The  school  hours  are  long 
enough  in  all  conscience." 

"  Oh — we  don't  go  to  Miss  Hickman  now,"  exclaimed  the 
girls  : — "  And  I  don't  go  any  longer  to  Mr.  Fulmer,"  cried 
Dick,  with  something  like  a  sigh. 

"  And  where  do  you  go,  then  ?"  inquired  Uncle  Philip. 

"  We  go  to  Monsieur  and  Madame  Franchimeau's  French 
Study,"  replied  Dick.  "He  teaches  the  boys,  and  she  the 
girls — and  our  lessons  are  so  long  that  it  takes  us  the  whole 
evening  to  learn  them,  and  write  our  exercises.  We  are  kept 
in  school  from  eight  in  the  morning  till  three  in  the  afternoon. 
And  then  at  four  we  go  back  again,  and  stay  till  dusk,  trying 


UNCLE   PHILIP.  89 

to  read  and  talk  French  with  Monsieur  and  Madame  Ravigote, 
the  father  and  mother  of  Madame  Franchimeau." 

"  What's  all  this  ?  said  Uncle  Philip,  laying  down  his  knife 
and  fork. 

Mrs.  Clavering,  after  silencing  Dick  with  a  significant  look, 
proceeded  to  explain — 

"Why,  uncle,"  said  she,  "you  must  know  that  immediately 
after  you  left  us,  there  came  to  Corinth  a  very  elegant  French 
family,  and  their  purpose  was  to  establish  an  Institute,  or 
Study,  as  they  now  call  it,  in  which,  according  to  the  last  new 
system  of  education,  everything  is  to  be  learnt  in  French. 
Mrs.  Apesley,  Mrs.  Nedging,  Mrs.  Pinxton,  Mrs.  Slimbridge 
and  myself,  with  others  of  the  leading  ladies  of  Corinth,  had 
long  wished  for  such  an  opportunity  of  having  our  children 
properly  instructed,  and  we  all  determined  to  avail  ourselves 
of  it.  We  called  immediately  on  the  French  ladies,  who  are 
very  superior  women,  and  we  resolved  at  once  to  bring  them 
into  fashion  by  showing  them  every  possible  attention.  We 
understood,  also,  that  before  Monsieur  Franchimeau  and  his 
family  came  to  Corinth,  they  had  been  on  the  other  side  of 
the  river,  and  had  visited  Tusculum  with  a  view  of  locating 
themselves  in  that  village.  But  these  polished  and  talented 
strangers  were  not  in  the  least  appreciated  by  the  Tusculans, 
who  are  certainly  a  coarse  and  vulgar  people ;  and  therefore  it 
became  the  duty  of  us  Corinthians  to  prove  to  them  our  supe 
riority  in  gentility  and  refinement." 

"  I  thought  as  much,"  said  Uncle  Philip;  "I  knew  it  would 
come  out  this  way.  So  the  Corinthians  are  learning  French 
out  of  spite  to  the  Tusculans.  And  J  suppose,  when  these 
Monsieurs  and  Madames  have  done  making  fools  of  the  peo 
ple  of  this  village,  they  will  move  higher  up  the  river,  and 
monkeyfy  all  before  them  between  this  and  Albany.  For,  of 
course,  the  Hyde  Parkers  will  learn  French  to  spite  the  New 
Paltzers,  and  the  Hudsonians  to  spite  the  Athenians,  and  the 
Kinderhookers  to  spite  the — " 

"  Now,  uncle,  do  hush,"  said  Mrs.  Clavering,  interrupting 
him ;  "  how  can  you  make  a  jest  of  a  thing  from  which  we 
expect  to  derive  so  much  benefit  ?" 

"  I  am  not  jesting  at  all,"  replied  Uncle  Philip ;  u  I  fear  it 
is  a  thing  too  serious  to  laugh  at.  But  why  do  you  say  we  ? 
I  hope,  Kitty  Clavering,  you  are  not  "making  a  fool  of  your 
self,  and  turning  school-girl  again  ?" 

"  I  certainly  do  take   lessons   in  French,"   replied  Mrs. 


90  UNCLE   PHILIP. 

Clavering.  "Mrs.  Apesley,  Mrs.  Nedging,  Mrs.  Pinxton, 
Mrs.  Sliinbridge  and  myself,  have  formed  a  class  for  that 
purpose." 

"  Mrs.  Apesley  has  eleven  children/7  said  Uncle  Philip. 

a  Yes/'  replied  Mrs.  Clavering,  "  but  the  youngest  is  more 
than  two  years  old.  And  Mrs.  Nedging  has  only  three." 

"  True,"  observed  the  uncle  j  "  one  of  them  is  an  idiot  boy 
that  can  neither  hear,  speak,  nor  use  any  of  his  limbs ;  the 
others  are  a  couple  of  twin  babies,  that  were  only  two  months 
old  when  I  went  away." 

"But  they  are  remarkably  good  babies,"  answered  Mrs. 
Clavering,  "  and  can  bear  very  well  to  have  their  mother  out 
of  their  sight." 

"  And  Mrs.  Pinxton,"  said  Uncle  Philip,  "  has,  ever  since 
the  death  of  her  husband,  presided  over  a  large  hotel,  which, 
if  properly  attended  to,  ought  to  furnish  her  with  employment 
for  eighteen  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four." 

f(  Oh  !  but  she  has  an  excellent  barkeeper,"  replied  Mrs. 
Clavering,  "  and  she  has  lately  got  a  cook  from  New  York, 
to  whom  she  gives  thirty  dollars  a  month,  and  she  has  pro 
moted  her  head-chambermaid  to  the  rank  of  housekeeper. 
Mrs.  Pinxton  herself  is  no  longer  to  be  seen  going  through 
the  house  as  she  formerly  did.  You  would  not  suppose  that 
there  was  any  mistress  belonging  to  the  establishment." 

"  So  much  the  worse,"  said  Uncle  Philip,  "  both  for  the 
mistress  and  the  establishment.  Well,  and  let  me  ask,  if  Mrs. 
Slimbridge's  husband  has  recovered  his  health  during  my 
absence  ?" 

"  Oh  !  no,  he  is  woxse  than  ever,"  replied  Mrs.  Clavering. 

"  And  still,"  resumed  Uncle  Philip,  "  with  an  invalid  hus 
band,  who  requires  her  constant  care  and  attention,  Mrs. 
Sliinbridge  can  find  it  in  her  heart  to  neglect  him,  and  waste 
her  time  in  taking  lessons  that  she  may  learn  to  read  French 
(though  I  am  told  their  books  are  all  about  nothing),  and  to 
talk  French,  though  I  cannot  for  my  life  see  who  she  is  to 
talk  to." 

"  There  is  no  telling  what  advantage  she  may  not  derive 
from  it  in  future  life,"  remarked  Mrs.  Clavering. 

"  I  can  tell  her  one  thing,"  said  Uncle  Philip,  "  when  poor 
Slimbridgo  dies,  her  French  will  never  help  her  to  a  second 
husband.  No  man  ev£r  married  a  woman  because  she  had 
learnt  French." 

"  Indeed,  uncle,"  replied  Mrs.  Clavering,  "  your  prejudices 


UNCLE   PHILIP.  91 

against  everything  foreign  are  so  strong,  that  it  is  in  vain  for 
me  to  oppose  them.  To-night,  at  least,  I  shall  not  say  another 
word  on  the  subject." 

"  Well,  well,  Kitty,"  said  Uncle  Philip,  shaking  her  kindly 
by  the  hand,  "  we'll  talk  no  more  about  it  to-night,  and  per 
haps,  as  you  say,  I  ought  to  have  more  patience  with  foreigners, 
seeing  that,  as  no  man  can  choose  his  own  birth-place,  it  is 
not  to  be  expected  that  everybody  can  be  born  in  America. 
And  those  that  are  not,  are  certainly  objects  of  pity  rather  than 
of  blame." 

"  Very  right,  uncle,"  exclaimed  Sam ;  "  I  am  sure  I  pity 
all  that  are  not  Americans  of  the  United  States,  particularly 
since  I  have  been  among  the  West  Indian  Spaniards." 

"  Now,  Kitty  Clavering,"  said  Uncle  Philip,  triumphantly, 
"  you  perceive  the  advantages  of  seeing  the  world  :  who  says 
that  Sam  has  not  profited  by  his  voyage  ?" 

The  family  separated  for  the  night;  and  next  morning  Sam 
laughed  at  Dick  for  repeating  his  French  verbs  in  his  sleep. 
"  No  wonder,"  replied  Dick,  "  if  you  knew  how  many  verbs  I 
have  to  learn  every  day,  and  how  much  difficulty  I  have  in 
getting  them  by  heart,  when  I  am  all  the  time  thinking  of 
other  things,  you  would  not  be  surprised  at  my  dreaming  of 
them ;  as  people  are  apt  to  do  of  whatever  is  their  greatest 
affliction." 

At  breakfast,  the  conversation  of  the  preceding  evening  was 
renewed,  by  Mrs.  Clavering  observing  with  much  complacency, 

te  Monsieur  Franchimeau  will  be  very  happy  to  find  that  I 
have  a  new  scholar  for  him." 

"Indeed!"  said  Uncle  Philip;  "and  who  else  have  you 
been  pressing  into  the  service  ?" 

"  My  son  Sam,  certainly,"  replied  Mrs.  Clavering.  "  I  pro 
mised  him  to  Mr.  Franchimeau,  and  he  of  course  has  been 
expecting  to  have  him  immediately  on  his  return  from  the 
West  Indies.  Undoubtedly,  Sam  must  be  allowed  the  same 
advantages  as  his  brother  and  sisters.  Not  to  give  him  an 
equal  opportunity  of  learning  French  would  be  unjust  in  the 
extreme." 

"  Dear  mother,"  replied  Sam,  "  I  am  quite  willing  to  put 
up  with  that  much  injustice." 

"  Right,  my  boy,"  exclaimed  Uncle  Philip ;  "  and  when 
you  have  learnt  everything  else,  it  will  then  be  quite  time 
enough  to  begin  French." 

"You  misunderstand  entirely,"  said  Mrs.  Clavering.  "The 
8 


92  UNCLE   PHILIP. 

children  are  learning  everything  else.  But  Mr.  Franchimoau 
goes  upon  the  new  system,  and  teaches  the  whole  in  French 
and  out  of  French  books.  His  pupils,  and  those  of  Madame 
Franchimeau,  learn  history,  geography,  astronomy,  botany, 
chemistry,  mathematics,  logic,  criticism,  composition,  geology, 
mineralogy,  conchology,  and  phrenology." 

"  Mercy  on  their  poor  heads,"  exclaimed  Uncle  Philip,  in 
terrupting  her  :  "  They'll  every  one  grow  up  idiots.  All  the 
sense  they  have  will  be  crushed  out  of  them,  by  this  unnatural 
business  of  overloading  their  minds  with  five  times  as  much 
as  they  can  bear.  And  the  whole  of  this  is  to  be  learned  in  a 
foreign  tongue  too.  Well,  what  next  ?  Are  they  also  taught 
Latin  and  Greek  in  French  ?  And  now  I  speak  of  those  two 
languages — that  have  caused  so  many  aching  heads  and  aching 
hearts  to  poor  boys  that  never  had  the  least  occasion  to  turn 
them  to  any  account — suppose  that  all  the  lectures  at  the 
Medical  Colleges  were  delivered  in  Latin  or  Greek.  How 
much,  do  you  think,  would  the  students  profit  by  them  ? 
Pretty  doctors  we  should  have,  if  they  learnt  their  business 
in  that  way.  No,  no ;  the  branches  you  have  mentioned  are 
all  hard  enough  in  themselves,  particularly  that  last  ology 
about  the  bumps  on  people's  heads.  To  get  a  thorough  know 
ledge  of  any  one  of  these  arts  or  sciences,  or  whatever  you  call 
them,  is  work  enough  for  a  man's  lifetime;  and  now  the  whole 
of  them  together  are  to  be  forced  upon  the  weak  understand 
ings  of  poor  innocent  children,  and  in  a  foreign  language,  to 
boot.  Shame  on  you — shame  on  you,  Kitty  Clavering  I" 

"  Uncle  Philip,"  said  Mrs.  Clavering,  smiling  at  his  vehe 
mence,  for  on  such  occasions  she  had  always  found  it  more 
prudent  to  smile  than  to  frown,  "  you  may  say  what  you  will 
now,  but  I  foresee  that  you  will  finally  become  a  convert  to  my 
views  of  this  subject.  I  intend  to  make  French  the  general 
language  of  the  family,  and  in  a  short  time  you  will  soon 
catch  it  yourself.  Why,  though  I  cannot  say  much  for  his 
proficiency  in  his  lessons,  even  Ric/mr*  has  picked  up  without 
intending  it,  a  number  of  French  phrases,  that  he  pronounces 
quite  well  when  I  make  him  go  over  them  with  me." 

"  Ttichar  I"  cried  Uncle  Philip,  "and  pray  who  is  he  ?  Who 
is  Richar  ?" 

"  That's  me,  uncle,"  said  Dick. 

"  So  you  have  Frenchified  Dick's  name,  have  you !"  said  the 

*  The  French  pronunciation  of  Richard. 


UNCLE   PHILir.  93 

old  gentleman.  "  but  I'm  determined  you  shall  not  Frenchify 
Sam's." 

"No,"  observed  Sam,  "I'll  not  be  Frenchified." 

"  And  pray,  young  ladies,"  resumed  the  uncle,  "  Fanny, 
Jenny,  and  Anny,  have  you  too  been  put  into  French  ?" 

"  Yes,  uncle,"  replied  Jane,  "  we  are  now  Fanchette, 
Jeanette,  and  Annette." 

"  So  much  the  worse,"  said  Uncle  Philip.  "  Listen  to  me, 
when  I  tell  you,  that  all  this  Frenchifying  will  come  to  no 
good ;  and  I  foresee  that  you  may  be  sorry  for  it  when  it  is 
too  late.  Of  what  use  will  it  be  to  any  of  you  ?  I  have  often 
heard  that  all  French  books  worth  reading  are  immediately 
done  into  English.  And  I  never  met  with  a  French  person 
worth  knowing  that  had  not  learned  to  talk  English." 

"  Now,  uncle,"  said  Mrs.  Clavering,  "  you  are  going  quite 
too  far.  If  our  knowledge  of  French  should  not  come  into  use 
while  in  our  own  country,  who  knows  but  some  time  or  other 
we  may  all  go  to  France." 

"  I  for  one,"  replied  Uncle  Philip,  "  I  know  that  you  will 
not ;  at  least,  you  shall  never  go  to  France  with  my  consent. 
No  American  woman  goes  to  France,  without  coming  home 
the  worse  for  it  in  some  way  or  other.  There  were  the  two 
Miss  Facebys,  who  came  up  here  last  spring,  fresh  from  a  six 
months'  foolery  in  Paris.  I  can  see  them  now,  ambling  along 
in  their  short  petticoats,  with  their  hands  clasped  on  their 
belt  buckles,  their  mouths  half  open  like  idiots,  and  their  eyes 
turned  upwards  like  dying  calves." 

Here  Uncle  Philip  set  the  whole  family  to  laughing,  by 
starting  from  his  chair  and  imitating  the  walk  and  manner  of 
the  Miss  Facebys. 

"  There,"  said  he,  resuming  his  seat,  "  I  know  that's  exactly 
like  them.  Then  did  not  they  pretend  to  have  nearly  forgotten 
their  own  language,  affecting  to  speak  English  imperfectly. 
And  what  was  the  end  of  them  ?  One  ran  away  with  a  danc 
ing-master's  mate,  and  the  other  got  privately  married  to  a 
fiddler." 

"  But  you  must  allow,"  said  Mrs.  Clavering,  "  that  the 
Miss  Facebys  improved  greatly  in  manner  by  their  visit  to 
France." 

"  I  know  not  what  you  call  manner"  replied  Uncle  Philip, 
"  but  I'm  sure  in  manners  they  did  not.  Manner  and  man 
ners,  I  find,  are  very  different  things.  And  I  was  told  by  a 
gentleman,  who  had  lived  many  years  in  France,  that  the  Miss 


94  UNCLE   PHILIP. 

Facebys  looked  and  behaved  like  French  chambermaids,  but 
not  like  French  ladies.  For  my  part,  I  am  no  judge  of  French 
women ;  but  this  I  know,  that  American  girls  had  better  be 
like  themselves,  and  not  copy  any  foreign  women  whatever. 
And  let  them  take  care  not  to  unfit  themselves  for  American 
husbands.  If  they  do,  they'll  lose  more  than  they'll  gain." 

"  Well,  Uncle  Philip,"  said  Mrs.  Clavering,  "  I  see  it  will 
take  time  to  make  a  convert  of  you." 

"  Don't  depend  on  that,"  replied  the  old  gentleman.  "  I, 
that  for  sixty  years  have  stood  out  against  all  foreigners,  par- 
ticularlv  the  French,  am  not  likely  to  be  taken  in  by  them 
now." 

"  We  shall  see,"  resumed  Mrs.  Clavering.  "  But  are  you 
really  serious  in  prohibiting  Sam  from  becoming  a  pupil  of 
Mr.  Franchimeau  ?" 

"  Serious,  to  be  sure  I  am,"  replied  Uncle  Philip.  "  Of 
what  use  can  it  be  to  him,  if  he  follows  the  sea,  as  of  course 
he  will  ?" 

" Of  great  use,"  answered  Mrs.  Clavering,  "if  he  should 
be  in  the  French  trade." 

"  I  look  forward  to  his  being  in  the  India  trade,"  said 
Uncle  Philip,  proudly. 

"  But  suppose,  uncle,"  said  Fanny,  "  he  should  happen  to 
have  French  sailors  on  board  his  ship  ?" 

"  French  sailors  !  French  !"  exclaimed  Uncle  Philip ;  "  for 
what  purpose  should  he  ship  a  Frenchman  as  a  sailor  ?  Why, 
I  was  once  all  over  a  French  frigate  that  came  into  New  York, 
and  she  was  a  pretty  thing  enough  to  look  at  outside.  But 
when  you  got  on  board  and  went  between  decks,  I  never  saw 
so  dirty  a  ship.  However,  I  won't  go  too  far — I  won't  say 
that  all  French  frigates  are  like  this  one,  or  all  French  sailors 
like  those.  Besides,  this  was  many  years  ago,  and,  perhaps, 
they've  improved  since." 

"  No  doubt  of  it,"  said  Mrs.  Clavering. 

"  Well,"  pursued  Uncle  Philip,  "  I  only  tell  you  what  I 
saw." 

"  But,  not  knowing  their  language,  you  must  have  misun 
derstood  a  great  deal  that  you  saw,"  observed  Mrs.  Clavering. 

"  The  first-lieutenant  spoke  English,"  said  Uncle  Philip, 
"  and  he  showed  me  the  ship ;  and,  to  do  him  justice,  he  was 
a  very  clever  fellow,  for  all  he  was  a  Frenchman.  There 
must  certainly  be  some  good  ones  among  them.  Yes,  yes — I 
have  not  a  word  to  say  against  that  first-lieutenant,  But  I 


UNCLE   THILTP.  90 

wish  you  had  seen  the  men  that  we  found  between  decks. 
Some  were  tinkling  on  a  sort  of  guitars,  and  some  were  toot 
ing  on  a  kind  of  flutes,  and  some  were  scraping  on  wretched 
fiddles.  Some  had  little  paint-boxes,  and  were  drawing  watch- 
papers,  with  loves  and  doves  on  them ;  some  were  sipping 
lemonade,  and  some  were  eating  sugar-candy ;  and  one  (whom 
I  suspected  to  have  been  originally  a  barber),  was  combing 
and  curling  a  lapdog.  It  was  really  sickening  to  see  sailors 
making  such  fools  of  themselves.  By  the  bye,  I  did  not  see  a 
tolerable  dog  about  the  ship.  There  was  no  fine  Newfound 
lander  like  my  gallant  Neptune  (come  here,  old  fellow),  but 
there  were  half  a  dozen  short-legged,  long-bodied,  red-eyed, 
tangle-haired  wretches,  meant  for  poodles,  but  not  even  half 
so  good.  And  some  of  the  men  were  petting  huge  cats,  and 
some  were  feeding  little  birds  in  cages." 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Clavering,  "  I  see  no  harm  in  all  this — 
only  an  evidence  that  the  general  refinement  of  the  French 
nation  pervades  all  ranks  of  society.  Is  it  not  better  to  eat 
sugar-candy  than  to  chew  tobacco,  and  to  sip  lemonade  than 
to  drink  grog  ?" 

"  And  then,"  continued  Uncle  Philip,  "  to  hear  the  names 
by  which  the  fellows  were  calling  each  other,  for  their  tongues 
were  all  going  the  whole  time  as  fast  as  they  could  chatter. 
There  were  Lindor  and  Isidore,  and  Adolphe  and  Emile.  I 
don't  believe  there  was  a  Jack  or  a  Tom  in  the  whole  ship. 
I  was  so  diverted  with  their  names,  that  I  made  the  first-lieu 
tenant  repeat  them  to  me,  and  I  wrote  them  down  in  my 
pocket-book.  A  very  gentlemanly  man  was  that  first-lieuten 
ant.  But  as  to  the  sailors — why,  there  was  one  fellow  sprawl 
ing  on  a  gun  (I  suppose  I  should  say  reclining),  and  talking 
to  himself  about  his  amiable  Pauline,  which,  I  suppose,  is  the 
French  for  Poll.  When  we  went  into  the  gun-room,  there  was 
the  gunner  sitting  on  a  chest,  and  reading  some  love-verses  of 
his  own  writing,  addressed  to  his  belle  Celestine,  which,  doubt 
less,  is  the  French  for  Sail.  Think  of  a  sailor  pretending 
to  have  a  belle  for  his  sweetheart !  The  first-lieutenant  told 
me  that  the  gunner  was  the  best  poet  in  the  ship.  I  must 
say,  I  think  very  well  of  that  first-lieutenant.  There  were 
half  a  dozen  boys  crowding  round  the  gunner  (or  forming  a 
group,  as,  I  suppose,  you  would  call  it),  and  looking  up  to  his 
face  with  admiration ;  and  one  great  fool  was  kneeling  behind 
him,  and  holding  over  his  head  a  wreath  of  some  sort  of  green 
8* 


96  UNCLE   PHILIP. 

leaves,  waiting  to  crown  him  when  he  had  done  reading  his 
verses." 

"  Well/'  observed  Mrs.  Clavering,  "  I  have  no  doubt  the 
whole  scene  had  a  very  pretty  effect." 

"  Pshaw/'  said  Uncle  Philip.  "  When  I  came  on  deck 
again,  there  was  the  boatswain's  mate,  who  was  also  the  ship's 
dancing-master  (for  a  Frenchman  can  turn  his  hand  to  any 
thing,  provided  it's  foolery),  and  he  was  giving  a  lesson  to 
two  dozen  dirty  fellows  with  bare  feet  and  red  woollen  caps, 
and  taking  them  by  their  huge  tarry  hands,  and  bidding  them 
chassez  here,  and  balancez  there,  and  promenade  here,  and 
pirouette  there.  I  was  too  angry  to  laugh,  when  I  saw  sailors 
making  such  baboons  of  themselves." 

"Now,"  remarked  Mrs.  Clavering,  "it  is  an  established 
fact,  that  without  some  knowledge  of  dancing,  no  one  can 
move  well,  or  have  a  graceful  air  and  carriage.  Why,  then, 
should  not  sailors  be  allowed  an  opportunity  of  cultivating  the 
graces  as  well  as  other  people  ?  Why  should  they  be  debarred 
from  everything  that  savours  of  refinement  ?" 

"I  am  glad,"  said  Uncle  Philip,  laughing,  "that  it  never 
fell  to  my  lot  to  go  to  sea  with  a  crew  of  refined  sailors.  I 
think,  I  should  have  tried  hard  to  whack  their  refinement  out 
of  them.  Why  the  French  first-lieutenant  (who  was  certainly 
a  very  clever  fellow),  told  me  that,  during  the  cruise,  five  or 
six  seamen  had  nearly  died  of  their  sensibility,  as  he  called 
it;  having  jumped  overboard,  because  they  could  not  bear  the 
separation  from  their  sweethearts." 

"Poor  fellows,"  said  Fanny,  "and  were  they  drowned?" 

"I  asked  that/'  replied  Uncle  Philip,  "hoping  that  they 
were ;  but,  unluckily  for  the  service,  they  were  all  provided 
with  sworn  friends,  who  jumped  heroically  into  the  sea,  and 
fished  the  lubbers  out.  And,  no  doubt,  the  whole  scene  had 
a  very  pretty  effect." 

"How  can  you  make  a  jest  of  such  things?"  said  Mrs. 
Clavering,  reproachfully. 

"Why,  I  am  only  repeating  your  own  words,"  answered  the 
old  gentleman.  "  But,  to  speak  seriously,  this  shows  that 
French  ships  ought  always  to  be  furnished  with  Newfoundland 
dogs  to  send  in  after  the  lovers,  and  spare  their  friends  the 
trouble  of  getting  a  wet  jacket  for  them : — Come  here,  old 
Ncp.  Up,  my  fine  fellow,  up,"  patting  the  dog's  head,  while 
the  enormous  animal  rested  his  fore-paws  on  his  master's 
shoulders. 


UNCLE   PHILIP.  97 

Mrs.  Clavering  now  reminded  the  children  that  it  was  con 
siderably  past  their  hour  for  going  to  school,  but  with  one 
accord  they  petitioned  for  a  holiday,  as  it  was  the  first  day  of 
Uncle  Philip's  and  Sam's  return. 

"  You  know  the  penalty/'  said  Mrs.  Clavering  j  "you  know 
that  if  you  stay  away  from  school,  you  will  be  put  down  to 
the  bottom  of  the  class." 

The  children  all  declared  their  willingness  to  submit  to  this 
punishment  rather  than  go  to  school  that  day. 

"Now,  Kitty  Clavering,"  said  Uncle  Philip,  "you  see 
plainly  that  their  hearts  are  not  in  the  French  :  and  that  it  is 
all  forced  work  with  them.  So  I  shall  be  regularly  displeased, 
if  you  send  the  children  to  school  to-day.  They  shall  go  with 
me  to  the  cabin,  and  we  will  all  spend  the  morning  there." 

The  cabin  was  a  small  wooden  edifice  planned  by  Uncle 
Philip,  and  erected  by  his  own  hands  with  the  assistance  of 
Sam  and  Dick.  It  stood  on  the  verge  of  the  river,  where  the 
bank  took  the  form  of  a  little  cape  or  headland,  which  Uncle 
Philip  called  Point  Lookout.  On  an  eminence  immediately 
above,  was  the  house  of  Mrs.  Clavering,  from  the  front  garden 
of  which  a  green  slope,  planted  with  fruit-trees,  descended 
gradually  to  the  water's  edge. 

The  building  (into  which  you  went  down  by  a  flight  of 
wooden  steps  inserted  in  the  face  of  the  hill),  was  as  much  as 
possible  like  the  cabin  of  a  ship.  The  ceiling  was  low,  with 
a  skylight  near  the  centre,  and  the  floor  was  not  exactly  level, 
there  being  a  very  visible  slant  to  one  side.  At  the  back  of  this 
cabin  was  an  imitation  of  transoms,  above  which  was  a  row  of 
small  windows  of  four  panes  each,  and  when  these  windows 
were  open,  they  were  fastened  up  by  brass  hooks  to  the  beams 
that  supported  the  roof.  In  the  middle  of  the  room  was  a 
flag-staff,  which  went  up  through  the  centre  of  a  table,  and 
perforated  the  ceiling  like  the  mizen-mast  of  a  ship,  and  rose 
to  a  great  height  above  the  roof.  From  the  top  of  this  staff 
an  American  ensign,  on  Sundays  and  holidays,  displayed  its 
stars  and  stripes  to  the  breeze.  There  was  a  range  of  lockers 
all  round  the  room,  containing  in  their  recesses  an  infinite 
variety  of  marine  curiosities  that  Uncle  Philip  had  collected 
during  his  voyages,  and  also  some  very  amusing  specimens  of 
Chinese  patience  and  ingenuity.  The  walls  were  hung  with 
charts,  and  ornamented  with  four  coloured  drawings  that 
Captain  Kentledge  showed  as  the  likenesses  of  four  favourite 
ships,  all  of  which  he  had  at  different  times  commanded. 


98  UNCLE   PHILIP. 

These  drawings  were  made  by  a  young  man  that  had  sailed 
with  him  as  mate ;  and  to  unpractised  eyes  all  the  four  ships 
looked  exactly  alike ;  but  Uncle  Philip  always  took  care  to 
explain  that  the  Columbia  was  sharpest  at  the  bows,  and  the 
American  roundest  at  the  stern ;  that  the  United  States  had 
the  tallest  masts,  and  the  Union  the  longest  yards. 

An  important  appendage  to  the  furniture  of  this  singular 
room  was  a  hanging-shelf,  containing  Captain  Kentledge's 
library ;  and  the  books  were  the  six  octavo  volumes  of  Cook's 
Voyages,  and  also  the  voyages  of  Scoresby,  lloss  and  Parry, 
the  Arabian  Nights,  Dibdin's  Songs,  Robinson  Crusoe,  and 
Cooper's  Pilot,  Red  Rover,  and  Water  Witch. 

This  cabin  was  the  stronghold  of  Uncle  Philip,  and  the 
place  where,  with  Sam  and  Neptune,  he  spent  all  his  happiest 
hours.  For  here  he  could  smoke  his  segars  in  peace,  and 
chew  his  tobacco  without  being  obliged  to  watch  an  opportunity 
of  slipping  it  privately  into  his  mouth.  But  as  Mrs.  Clavering 
had  particularly  desired  that  he  would  not  initiate  Sam  into 
the  use  of  "  the  Indian  weed/'  he  had  promised  to  refrain  from 
instructing  him  in  this  branch  of  a  sailor's  education ;  and 
being  "an  honourable  man,"  Uncle  Philip  had  faithfully  kept 
his  word. 

Dick  (acknowledging  that  during  his  uncle's  absence  he 
had  used  the  cabin  as  a  workshop,  and  that  it  was  now  ankle- 
deep  in  chips  and  shavings),  ran  on  before  with  a  broom  to 
sweep  the  litter  into  a  corner.  The  whole  group  proceeded 
thither  from  the  breakfast  table,  Uncle  Philip  wishing  he  had 
three  hands  that  he  might  give  one  to  each  of  the  little  girls ; 
but  as  that  was  not  the  case,  they  drew  lots  to  decide  which 
should  be  contented  to  hold  by  the  skirt  of  his  coat,  and  the 
lot  fell  upon  Fanny;  the  old  gentleman  leading  Jane  and 
Anne,  while  Sam  and  Neptune  brought  up  the  rear. 

Arrived  at  the  cabin,  Uncle  Philip  placed  himself  in  his 
arm-chair ;  the  girls  sat  round  him  sewing  for  their  dolls ; 
Sam  took  his  slate  and  drew  upon  it  all  the  different  parts  of 
the  schooner  Winthrop,  of  which  (from  his  brother's  descrip 
tion)  Dick  commenced  making  a  minature  model  in  wood; 
and  Neptune  mounted  one  of  the  transoms  and  looked  out  of 
the  window. 

Things  were  going  on  very  pleasantly,  and  Uncle  Philip  was 
in  the  midst  of  narrating  the  particulars  of  a  violent  storm 
they  had  encountered  in  the  gulf  of  Florida,  when  Dick,  cast- 


UNCLE   PHILIP.  99 

ing  his  eyes  towards  the  glass  door,  exclaimed,  "  the  French 
are  coming,  the  French  are  coming  I" 

Uncle  Philip  testified  much  dissatisfaction  at  the  intrusion 
of  these  unwelcome  visitors,  and  Dick  again  fell  to  work  with 
the  broom.  In  a  few  minutes  Mrs.  C layering  entered  the 
cabin,  bringing  with  her  Monsieur  and  Madame  Franchimeau, 
and  the  vieux  papa;  and  vieitte  mama,*  Monsieur  and  Madame 
Ravigote. 

Mr.  Franchimeau  was  a  clumsy,  ill-made  man,  fierce-eyed, 
black-whiskered,  and  looking  as  if  he  might  sit  for  the  picture 
of  "  Absellino  the  Great  Bandit."  Madame  Franchimeau  was 
a  large  woman,  with  large  features,  and  a  figure  that  was  very 
bad  in  dishabille,  and  very  good  in  full  dress.  Her  father  and 
mother  were  remnants  of  the  ancien  rfyimc,  but  the  costume 
of  the  vieux  papa  was  not  at  all  in  the  style  of  Blissett's 
Frenchman.  His  clothes  were  like  those  of  other  people,  and 
instead  of  a  powdered  toupee  and  pigeon-wing  side-curls,  with  a 
black  silk  bag  behind,  he  wore  a  reddish  scratch-wig  that  al 
most  came  down  to  his  eyebrows.  Why  do  very  old  men,  when 
they  wear  wigs,  generally  prefer  red  ones  ?  Madame  Ravigote 
was  a  little  withered,  witch-like  woman,  with  a  skin  resembling 
brown  leather,  which  was  set  off  by  four  scanty  flaxen  ringlets. 

Soon  after  breakfast,  Mrs.  Clavering  had  sent  a  message  to 
"the  French  Study,"  implying  the  arrival  of  Captain  Kent 
ledge,  and  the  consequent  holiday  of  the  children ;  and  the 
Grauls  had  concluded  it  expedient  to  dismiss  their  school  at 
twelve  o'clock,  and  hasten  to  pay  their  compliments  to  the 
rich  old  uncle,  of  whom  they  had  heard  much  since  their 
residence  at  Corinth. 

When  they  were  presented  to  Captain  Kentledge,  he  was 
not  at  all  prepossessed  in  favor  of  their  appearance,  and  would 
have  been  much  inclined  to  receive  them  coldly ;  but  as  he 
was  now  called  upon  to  appear  in  the  character  of  their  host, 
he  remembered  the  courtesy  due  to  them  as  his  guests,  and  he 
managed  to  do  the  honors  of  his  cabin  in  a  very  commendable 
manner,  considering  that  he  said  to  himself,  "for  my  own 
sake,  I  cannot  be  otherwise  than  civil  to  them ;  but  I  despise 
them,  notwithstanding." 

There  was  much  chattering  that  amounted  to  nothing ;  and 
much  admiration  of  the  cabin,  by  which,  instead  of  pleasing 
Uncle  Philip,  they  only  incurred  his  farther  contempt,  by 


The  old  papa,  and  the  old  mamma. 


100  UNCLE   PHILIP. 

admiring  always  in  the  wrong  place,  and  evincing  an  ignorance 
of  ships  that  he  thought  unpardonable  in  people  that  had 
crossed  the  Atlantic.  On  Sam  being  introduced  to  them, 
there  were  many  overstrained  compliments  on  his  beauty,  and 
what  they  called  his  air  distingue.  Monsieur  Franchimeau 
thought  that  le  jeune  Sammi*  greatly  resembled  Mr.  Irvine 
Voshintone,  whom  he  had  seen  in  Paris ;  but  Monsieur  Ra- 
vigote  thought  him  more  like  the  portrait  of  Sir  Valter  Scotch. 
Madame  Franchimeau  likened  him  to  the  head  of  the  Apollo 
Belvidere,  and  Madame  Ilavigote  to  the  Duke  of  Berry.  But 
all  agreed  that  he  had  a  general  resemblance  to  La  Fayette, 
with  a  slight  touch  of  Dr.  Franklin.  However  these  various 
similitudes  might  be  intended  as  compliments,  they  afforded 
no  gratification  to  Uncle  Philip,  whose  secret  opinion  was, 
that  if  Sam  looked  like  anybody,  it  was  undoubtedly  Paul 
Jones.  And  during  this  examination,  Sam  was  not  a  little 
disconcerted  at  being  seized  by  the  shoulders  and  twirled 
round,  and  taken  sometimes  by  the  forehead  and  sometimes 
by  the  chin,  that  his  face  might  be  brought  into  the  best  light 
for  discovering  all  its  affinities. 

There  was  then  an  attempt  at  general  conversation,  the 
chief  part  of  which  was  borne  by  the  ladies,  or  rather  by  Ma 
dame  Franchimeau,  who  thought  in  her  duty  to  atone  for  the 
dogged  taciturnity  of  her  husband.  Monsieur  Franchimeau, 
unlike  the  generality  of  his  countrymen,  neither  smiled,  bowed, 
nor  complimented.  Having  a  great  contempt  for  the  manners 
of  the  vieille  courfi  and  particularly  for  those  of  his  father-in- 
law  y  he  piqued  himself  on  his  brusquerie,  J  and  his  almost 
total  disregard  of  les  lienseanccs,  §  and  set  up  un  esprit  fort  :\\ 
but  he  took  care  to  talk  as  little  as  possible,  lest  his  claims 
to  that  character  should  be  suspected. 

Uncle  Philip,  though  he  scorned  to  acknowledge  it,  was  not 
in  reality  destitute  of  all  comprehension  of  the  French  lan 
guage,  having  picked  up  some  little  acquaintance  with  it  from 
having,  in  the  course  of  his  wanderings,  been  at  places  wftere 
nothing  else  was  spoken;  and  though  determined  on  being 
displeased,  he  was  amused,  in  spite  of  himself,  at  some  of  the 
tirades  of  Madame  Franchimeau.  Understanding  that  Mon- 

*  The  young  Sammy. 

f  Old  Court. 

J  Bluntness,  roughness. 

\  Customs  of  polite  society. 

||  A  person  of  strong  mind,  superior  mind. 


UNCLE   PHILI!-.  101 

sieur  Philippe  (as  much  to  his  annoyance  she  called  him)  had 
just  returned  from  the  West  Indies,  she  began  to  talk  of  Cape 
Frangois,  and  the  insurrection  of  the  blacks,  in  which,  she 
said,  she  had  lost  her  first  husband,  Monsieur  Mascaron.  "By 
this  terrible  blow,"  said  she,  "I  was  parfaitcment  abime* 
and  I  refused  all  consolation  till  it  was  my  felicity  to  inspire 
Monsieur  Franchimeau  with  sentiments  the  most  profound. 
But  my  heart  will  for  ever  preserve  a  tender  recollection  of 
my  well-beloved  Alphonse.  Ah  !  my  Alphonse — his  manners 
were  adorable.  However,  my  regards  are  great  for  mon  ami  f 
Monsieur  Franchimeau.  It  is  true,  he  is  un  peu  brusque — 
c'est  son  caractere.  J  But  his  heart  is  of  a  goodness  that  is 
really  inconceivable.  He  performs  the  most  charming  actions, 
and  with  a  generosity  that  is  heroic.  Ah  !  mon  ami — you 
hear  me  speak  of  you — but  permit  me  the  sad  consolation  of 
shedding  yet  a  few  tears  for  my  respectable  Alphonse." 

Madame  Franchimeau  then  entered  into  an  animated  detail 
of  the  death  of  her  first  husband,  who  was  killed  before  her 
eyes  by  the  negroes ;  and  she  dwelt  upon  every  horrid  parti 
cular,  till  she  had  worked  herself  into  a  passion  of  tears.  Just 
then,  Fanny  Clavering  (who  had  for  that  purpose  been  sent 
up  to  the  house  by  her  mother)  arrived  with  a  servant  carrying 
a  waiter  of  pine-apples,  sugar  and  Madeira. 

Madame  Franchimeau  stopped  in  the  midst  of  her  tears, 
and  exclaimed — " Ah  !  des  ananas — mon  ami  (to  her  husband) 
— inaman — -papa — voycz — voyez — des  ananas. §  Ah  !  my 
poorest  Alphonse,  great  was  his  love  for  these — what  you  call 
them — apple  de  pine.  He  was  just  paring  his  apple  de  pine, 
when  the  detestable  negroes  rushed  in  and  overset  the  table. 
Ah!  qucl  scene — une  veritable  tragedie !  ||  PardonneZj  Ma 
dame  Colavering,  I  prefer  a  slice  from  the  largest  part  of  the 
fruit. — Ah  !  my  amiable  Alphonse — his  blood  flew  all  over 
my  robe,  which  was  of  spotted  Japan  muslin.  I  wore  that 
day  a  long  sash  of  a  broad  ribbon  of  the  colour  of  Aurore, 
fringed  at  both  of  its  ends.  When  I  was  running  away,  he 
grasped  it  so  hard  that  it  came  untied,  and  I  left  it  in  his 

*  Perfectly  destroyed,  plunged  into  an  abyss  of  despair, 
f  My  friend,  my  dear. 

J  A  little  blunt — a  little  rough.     It  is  his  character. 
|  "Ah  !  pine-apples — my  dear — (to  her  husband) — mamma — papa 
— see — see — pine-apples !" 

||  Ah !  what  a  scene — a  real  tragedy ! 


10  UNCLE   PHILIP. 

hand. — May  I  beg  the  favour  of  some  more  sugar  ? — Mon  ami, 
you  always  prefer  the  pine-apple  bathed  in  Champagne/' 

"  Yes/'  replied  Franchimeau,  "  it  does  me  no  good,  unless 
each  slice  is  soaked  in  some  wine  of  fine  quality."  But  Mrs. 
Clavering  acknowledging  that  she  had  no  Champagne  in  the 
house,  Franchinieau  gruffly  replied,  that  "  he  supposed  Ma 
deira  might  do." 

Madame  then  continued  her  story  and  her  pine-apple.  "All ! 
mon  bien-aime  Alphonse,"*  said  she,  "  he  had  fourteen  wounds 
— I  will  take  another  slice,  if  you  please,  Madame  Colavering. 
There — there — a  little  more  sugar.  Bien  oblige^ — a  little 
more  still.  Maman,  vous  ne  mangez  pas  de  Ion  appetit.  Ah  ! 
je  comprens — vous  voulez  de  la  creme  avec  votre  anana.^ — 
Madame  Colavering,  will  you  do  mamma  the  favour  to  have 
some  cream  brought  for  her  ?  and  I  shall  not  refuse  some  for 
myself.  Ah !  mon  Alphonse — the  object  of  my  first  grand 
passion !  He  exhibited  in  dying  some  contortions  that  were 
hideous — absolument  effroyable§ — they  are  always  present 
before  my  eyes — Madame  Colavering,  I  would  prefer  those 
two  under  slices ;  they  are  the  best  penetrated  with  the  sugar, 
and  also  well  steeped  in  the/ws."|| 

The  cream  was  procured,  and  the  two  Madames  did  it  am 
ple  justice.  Presently  the  youngest  of  the  French  ladies 
opened  her  eyes  very  wide,  and  exclaimed  to  her  father, 
"  Mon  cher  papa,  vous  riavez  pas  dejd  fini  TJ\  "  My  good 
friend,  Madame  Colavering,  you  know,  of  course,  that  my 
papa  cannot  each  much  fruit,  unless  it  is  accompanied  by  some 
biscuit — for  instance,  the  cake  you  call  sponge/7 

"  I  was  not  aware  of  that,"  replied  Mrs.  Clavering. 

"  Est-il  possible  .?"**  exclaimed  the  whole  French  family, 
looking  at  each  other. 

Mrs.  Clavering  then  recollecting  that  there  was  some  sponge 
cake  in  the  house,  sent  one  of  the  children  for  it,  and  when 
it  was  brought,  their  French  visiters  all  ate  heartily  of  it ; 
and  she  heard  the  vicille  maman^  saying  to  the  vieuxpapa,^ 

*  My  beloved  Alplionse.  f  Much  obliged  to  you. 

J  Mamma,  you  do  not  eat  with  a  good  appetite.    Ah !  I  understand 
— you  wish  for  some  cream  with  your  pine-apple, 
g  Absolutely  frightful.  ||  Juice. 

f"  My  dear  papa,  you  have  not  finished  already  ? 
**  Is  it  possible  ?  ff  Old  mamma. 

JJ  Old  papa. 


UNCLE  PHILIP.  103 

"  Eh,  mon  ami)  ce  petit  collation  vient  fort  d-propos}  comme 
notre  dejeuner  etait  seulement  un  mauvais  salade."* 

The  collation  over,  Mrs.  Clavering,  by  way  of  giving  her 
guests  an  opportunity  of  saying  something  that  would  please 
Uncle  Philip,  patted  old  Neptune  on  the  head,  and  asked  them 
if  they  had  ever  seen  a  finer  dog  ? 

"  I  will  show  you  a  finer,"  replied  Madame  Franchimeau  ; 
"  see,  I  have  brought  with  me  my  interesting  Bijou" — and 
she  called  in  an  ugly  little  pug  that  had  been  scrambling  about 
the  cabin  door  ever  since  their  arrival,  and  whose  only  qualifi 
cation  was  that  of  painfully  sitting  up  on  his  hind  legs,  and 
shaking  his  forepaws  in  the  fashion  that  is  called  begging. 
His  mistress,  with  much  importunity,  prevailed  on  him  to  per 
form  this  elegant  feat,  and  she  then  rewarded  him  with  a 
saucer-full  of  cream,  sugar,  and  sponge-cake.  He  was  waspish 
and  snappish,  and  snarled  at  Jane  Clavering  when  she  attempt 
ed  to  play  with  him ;  upon  which  Neptune,  with  one  blow  of 
his  huge  forefoot,  brought  the  pug  to  the  ground,  and  then 
stood  motionless,  looking  up  in  Uncle  Philip's  face,  with  his 
paw  on  the  neck  of  the  sprawling  animal,  who  kicked  and 
yelped  most  piteously.  This  interference  of  the  old  New 
foundlander  gave  great  offence  to  the  French  family,  who  all 
exclaimed,  "  Quelle  horreur  !  Quelle  abomination  !  En  effet 
c'est  trop  /"f 

Uncle  Philip  could  not  help  laughing ;  but  Sam  called  off 
Neptune  from  Bijou,  and  set  the  fallen  pug  on  his  legs  again, 
for  which  compassionate  act  he  was  complimented  by  the 
French  ladies  on  his  bonte  cle  coeur^  and  honoured  at  parting, 
with  the  title  of  le  doux  Sammi.§ 

"I'll  never  return  this  visit,"  said  Uncle  Philip,  after  the 
French  guests  had  taken  their  leave. 

"  Oh  !  but  you  must"  replied  Mrs.  Clavering ;  "  it  was  in 
tended  expressly  for  you — you  must  return  it,  in  common 
civility." 

"  But,"  persisted  Uncle  Philip,  "  I  wish  them  to  under 
stand  that  I  don't  intend  to  treat  them  with  common  civility. 
A  pack  of  selfish,  ridiculous,  impudent  fools.  No,  no.  I  am 
not  so  prejudiced  as  to  believe  that  all  French  people  are  as 

*  Eh !  my  dear,  this  little  collation  comes  very  seasonably,  as  our 
breakfast  was  nothing  but  a  bad  salad. 

f  What  horror !  What  abomination  !   It  is  really  too  much ! 

j  Goodness  of  heart. 

|  The  mild  Sammy — the  gentle  Sammy. 


104  UNCLE  PHILIP. 

"bad  as  these — many  of  them,  no  doubt,  if  we  could  only  find 
where  they  are,  may  be  quite  as  clever  as  the  first  lieutenant 
of  that  frigate ;  but,  to  their  shame  be  it  spoken,  the  best  of 
them  seldom  visit  America,  and  our  country  is  overrun  with 
ignorant,  vulgar  impostors,  who,  unable  to  get  their  bread  at 
home,  come  here  full  of  lies  and  pretensions,  and  to  them  and 
their  quackery  must  our  children  be  intrusted,  in  the  hope  of 
acquiring  a  smattering  of  French  jabber,  and  at  the  risk  of 
losing  everything  else." 

"  Don't  you  think  Uncle  Philip  always  talks  best  when  he's 
in  a  passion?"  observed  Dick  to  Sam. 

After  Mrs.  Clavering  had  returned  to  the  house,  Dick  in 
formed  his  uncle  that,  a  few  days  before,  she  had  made  a 
dinner  for  the  whole  French  family ;  and  Captain  Kentledge 
congratulated  himself  and  Sam  on  their  not  arriving  sooner 
from  their  voyage.  Dick  had  privately  told  his  brother  that 
the  behaviour  of  the  guests,  on  this  occasion,  had  not  given 
much  satisfaction.  Mrs.  Clavering,  it  seems,  had  hired,  to 
dress  the  dinner,  a  mulatto  woman  that  professed  great  know 
ledge  of  French  cookery,  having  lived  at  one  of  the  best  hotels 
in  New  York.  But  Monsieur  Franchimeau  had  sneered  at  all 
the  French  dishes  as  soon  as  he  tasted  them,  and  pretended 
not  to  know  their  names,  or  for  what  they  were  intended ; 
Monsieur  Ravigote  had  shrugged  and  sighed,  and  the  ladies 
had  declined  touching  them  at  all,  dining  entirely  on  what  (as 
Dick  expressed  it)  they  called  roast  beef  de  mutton  and  natural 
potatoes.* 

It  was  not  only  his  regard  for  the  children  that  made  Mrs. 
Clavering' s  French  mania  a  source  of  great  annoyance  to 
Uncle  Philip,  but  he  soon  found  that  much  of  the  domestic 
comfort  of  the  family  was  destroyed  by  this  unaccountable 
freak,  as  he  considered  it.  Mrs.  Clavering  was  not  young 
enough  to  be  a  very  apt  scholar,  and  so  much  of  her  time  was 
occupied  by  learning  her  very  long  lessons,  and  writing  her 
very  long  exercises,  that  her  household  duties  were  neglected 
in  consequence.  As  in  a  provincial  town  it  is  difficult  to  ob 
tain  servants  who  can  go  on  well  without  considerable  atten 
tion  from  the  mistress,  the  house  was  not  kept  in  as  nice  order 
as  formerly ;  the  meals  were  at  irregular  hours,  and  no  longer 

*  The  vulgar  French  think  that  the  English  term  for  all  sorts  of 
roasted  meat  is  rosbif — thus  rosbif  de  mouton — rosbif  de  pore.  Potatoes 
plainly  boiled,  with  the  skins  on,  are  called,  in  France,  pommes  de  terre 
au  naturel. 


UNCLE   PHILIP.  105 

well  prepared;  the  children's  comfort  was  forgotten,  their 
pleasures  were  not  thought  of,  and  the  little  girls  grieved  that 
no  sweetmeats  were  to  be  made  that  season ;  their  mother 
telling  them  that  she  had  now  no  time  to  attend  to  such  things. 
The  children's  story-books  were  taken  from  them,  because 
they  were  now  to  read  nothing  but  Telemaque ;  they  were 
stopped  short  in  the  midst  of  their  talk,  and  told  to  parlez 
Frangais*  Even  the  parrots  heard  so  much  of  it  that,  in  a 
short  time,  they  prated  nothing  but  French. 

Uncle  Philip  had  put  his  positive  veto  on  Sam's  going  to 
French  school,  and  he  insisted  that  little  Anne  had  become 
pale  and  thin  since  she  had  been  a  pupil  of  the  Franchimeaus. 
Mrs.  Clavering,  to  pacify  him,  consented  to  withdraw  the  child 
from  school }  but  only  on  condition  that  she  was  every  day  to 
receive  a  lesson  at  home,  from  old  Mr.  Ravigote. 

Anne  Clavering  was  but  five  years  old.  As  yet,  no  taste 
for  French  a  had  dawned  upon  her  soul/'  and  very  little  for 
English ;  her  mind  being  constantly  occupied  with  her  doll, 
and  other  playthings.  Monsieur  Ravigote,  with  all  the  excit 
ability  of  his  nation,  was,  in  the  main,  a  very  good-natured 
man,  and  was  really  anxious  for  the  improvement  of  his  pupil. 
But  all  was  in  vain.  Little  Anne  never  knew  her  lessons, 
and  had  as  yet  acquired  no  other  French  phrase  than  "  Oui, 
Monsieur. ""f 

Every  morning,  Mr.  Kavigote  came  with  a  face  dressed  in 
smiles,  and  earnest  hope  that  his  pupil  was  going  that  day  to 
give  him  what  he  called  "  one  grand  satisfaction ;"  but  the 
result  was  always  the  same. 

One  morning,  as  Uncle  Philip  sat  reading  the  newspaper, 
and  holding  little  Anne  on  his  knee  while  she  dressed  her 
doll,  Mr.  Ravigote  came  in,  bowing  and  smiling  as  usual,  and 
after  saluting  Captain  Kentledge,  he  said  to  the  little  child : 
"Well,  my  dear  little  friend,  ma  gentille  Annette^  I  see  by 
the  look  of  your  countenance  that  I  shall  have  one  grand 
satisfaction  with  you  this  day.  Application  is  painted  on 
your  visage,  and  docility  also.  Is  there  not,  ma  chere  £"§ 

"  Old,  Monsieur,"  replied  the  little  Anne. 

"  J'en  suis  ravi.\\  Now,  ma  chere,  commen^ons — commen- 
$ons  tout  de  suite."\ 

*  Speak  French.  f  Yes,  sir. 

%  My  pretty  Annette.  g  My  dear. 

||  I  am  delighted  at  it. 

if  Now,  my  dear,  let  us  begin — let  us  begin  immediately. 


106  UNCLE   PHILIP. 

Little  Anne  slowly  descended  from  her  uncle's  knee,  care 
fully  put  away  her  doll  and  folded  up  her  doll's  clothes,  and 
then  made  a  tedious  search  for  her  book. 

"Eh !  bien,  commengons,"  said  Mr.  Ravigote,  "  you  move 
without  any  rapidity." 

"Oui,  Monsieur"  responded  little  Anne,  who,  after  she 
had  taken  her  seat  in  a  low  chair  beside  Mr.  Ravigote,  was  a 
long  time  getting  into  a  comfortable  position,  and  at  last  settled 
herself  to  her  satisfaction  by  crossing  her  feet,  leaning  back 
as  far  as  she  could  go,  and  hooking  one  finger  in  her  coral 
necklace,  that  she  might  pull  at  it  all  the  time. 

"jEh  !  bien,  ma  chere  ;  we  will  first  have  the  lessons  with 
out  the  book,"  said  Mr.  Ravigote,  commencing  with  the 
vocabulary.  "  Tell  me  the  names  of  all  the  months  of  the 
year — for  instance,  January." 

"Janvier"  answered  the  pupil,  promptly. 

"  Ah !  very  well,  very  well,  indeed,  ma  chere — for  once, 
you  know  the  first  word  of  your  lesson.  Ah !  to-day  I  have, 
indeed,  great  hope  of  you.  Come,  now;  February?" 

"  Fevrier,"  said  little  Anne. 

"  Excellent !  excellent !  you  know  the  second  word  too — and 
now,  then,  March  ?" 

«  Marsh." 

"  Ah  !  no,  no — but  I  am  old ;  perhaps  I  did  not  rightly 
hear.  Repeat,  ma  chere  enfant*  repeat." 

"  Marsh,"  cried  little  Anne  in  a  very  loud  voice. 

"  Ah  !  you  are  wrong ;  but  I  will  pardon  you — you  have 
said  two  words  right.  Mars,  ma  chere,  Mars  is  the  French 
for  March  the  month.  Come  now,  April." 

"  Aprile."' 

"Apriie!  there  is  no  such  word  as  Aprile — Avril.  And 
now  tell  me,  what  is  May  ?" 

"Jfei" 

"  Excellent !  excellent !  capital !  magnifique  !  you  said  that 
word  parfaitement  bien.^  Now  let  us  proceed — June." 

"  Juney." 

"  Ah  !  no,  no — Juin,  ma  chere,  Juin — but  I  will  excuse 
you.  Now,  tell  me  July." 

Little  Anne  could  make  no  answer. 

"  Ah  !  I  fear — I  begin  to  fear  you.  Are  you  not  growing 
bad?" 

u  Oui,  Monsieur,"  said  little  Anne. 

*  My  dear  child.  f  Perfectly  well. 


UNCLE   PHILIP.  107 

"  Come  then ;  I  will  tell  you  this  once — Juillet  is  the  French 
for  July.  Now,  tell  me  what  is  August  ?" 

"  Augoost !" 

"  Augoost !  Augoost !  there  is  no  such  a  word.  Why,  you 
are  very  bad,  indeed — Aout,  Aout,  Aout" 

TJie  manner  in  which  Mr.  llavigote  vociferated  this  rather 
uncouth  word,  roused  Uncle  Philip  from  his  newspaper  and 
his  rocking-chair,  and  mistaking  it  for  a  howl  of  pain,  he 
started  up  and  exclaimed,  "  Hallo  !"  Mr.  Ravigote  turned 
round  in  amazement,  and  Uncle  Philip  continued,  "  Hey, 
what's  the  matter  ?  Has  anything  hurt  you  ?  I  thought  I 
heard  a  howl." 

"  Dear  uncle,"  said  little  Anne,  "  Mr.  Ravigote  is  not  howl 
ing  ;  he  is  only  saying  August  in  French." 

Uncle  Philip  bit  his  lip  and  resumed  his  paper.  Mr.  Ravi 
gote  proceeded,  "  September  ?"  and  his  pupil  repeated  in  a 
breath,  as  if  she  was  afraid  to  stop  an  instant  lest  she  should 
forget — 

"  Scptembre,  Octobre,  Novembre,  Decembre." 

t(  Ah !  very  well }  very  well,  indeed,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Ravi 
gote;  "  you  have  said  these  four  words  comma  ilfaut;*  but 
it  must  be  confessed  they  are  not  much  difficult." 

He  then  proceeded  with  the  remainder  of  her  vocabulary 
lesson ;  but  in  vain — not  another  word  did  she  say  that  had 
the  least  affinity  to  the  right  one.  "  Ah  !"  said  he,  "je  suis  au 
desespoir ;  f  I  much  expected  of  you  this  day,  but  you  have 
overtumbled  all  my  hopes.  Je  suis  abime."  J 

"  Old,  Monsieur  j  said  little  Anne. 

"  You  are  one  mauvais  sujet"  §  pursued  the  teacher,  begin 
ning  to  lose  his  patience ;  "  punishment  is  all  that  you  merit. 
Mais  allonst  essayons  encore."  \\ 

Just  at  that  moment  the  string  of  little  Anne's  beads  (at 
which  she  had  been  pulling  during  the  whole  lesson)  broke 
suddenly  in  two,  and  the  beads  begun  to  shower  down,  a  few 
into  her  lap,  but  most  of  them  on  the  floor. 

"  Oli  I  giicl  dommage  /"  ^f  exclaimed  Mr.  Ravigote ;  "  Mais 
n'importe,  laisscz-les**  and  continue  your  lesson." 

*  Properly.  f  I  am  in  despair. 

J  "I  am  thrown  in  an  abyss  of  grief,";-is  perhaps  nearest  the  mean 
ing  of  this  very  French  expression. 

$  Bad  person — bad  child.  ||  But  come,  let  us  try  again. 

f  Oh  !  what  a  pity ! 
**  But  no  matter — let  them  alone. 
9* 


108  UNCLE   PHILIP. 

But  poor  Mr.  Ravigote  found  it  impossible  to  make  the  little 
girl  pay  the  slightest  attention  to  him  while  her  beads  were 
scattered  on  the  floor ;  and  his  only  alternative  was  to  stoop 
down  and  help  her  to  pick  them  up.  Uncle  Philip  raised  his 
eyes  from  the  paper,  and  said,  "  Never  mind  the  beads,  my 
dear ;  finish  the  lesson,  and  I  will  buy  you  a  new  coral  neck 
lace  to-morrow,  and  a  much  prettier  one  than  that." 

Little  Anne  instantly  rose  from  the  floor,  and  whisking  into 
her  chair,  prepared  to  resume  her  lesson  with  alacrity. 

"  Eh  I  lien"  said  the  teacher,  "now  we  will  start  oif  again, 
and  read  the  inside  of  a  book.  Come,  here  is  the  fable  of  the 
fox  and  the  grapes.  These  are  the  fables  that  we  read  during 
the  ancien  regime  ;  there  are  none  so  good  now." 

Mr.  Ravigote  then  proceeded  to  read  with  her,  translating 
as  he  went  on,  and  making  her  repeat  after  him — "  A  fox  of 
Normandy,  (some  say  of  Gascony,)  &c.,  &c.  Now,  my  dear, 
you  must  try  this  day  and  make  a  copy  of  the  nasal  sounds  as 
you  hear  them  from  me.  It  is  in  these  sounds  that  you  are 
always  the  very  worst.  The  nasal  sounds  are  the  soul  and  the 
life  of  French  speaking." 

The  teacher  bent  over  the  book,  and  little  Anne  followed 
his  pronunciation  more  closely  than  she  had  ever  done  before : 
he  exclaiming  at  every  sentence,  "  Very  well — very  well,  in 
deed,  my  dear.  To-day  you  have  the  nasal  sounds,  comme 
une  ange."* 

But  on  turning  round  to  pat  her  head,  he  perceived  that 
gentille  Annette  was  holding  her  nose  between  her  thumb  and 
finger,  and  that  it  was  in  this  way  only  she  had  managed  to 
give  him  satisfaction  with  the  nasal  sounds.  He  started  back 
aghast,  exclaiming — 

"Ah!  quelle  friponnerie  !  la  petite  coquine!  Void  un  grand 
acte  de  fourberie  et  de  mechancete  !  f  So  young  and  so  de 
praved — ah !  I  fear,  I  much  fear,  she  will  grow  up  a  rogue — 
a  cheat — perhaps  a  thief.  Je  sttis  glad  d'horreur  !  Je  trem 
ble  !  Je  frissonne  !"  J 

"  Til  tell  you  what,"  said  Uncle  Philip,  laying  down  his 


*  Like  an  angel. 

•f-  Ah  !  what  roguery — the  little  jade  !     What  an  instance  of  impos 
ture  and  wickedness ! 

J  I  am  frozen  with  horror ! — I  tremble ! — I  shiver ! 


UNCLE   PHILIP.  109 

children  are  apt  to  play  at  times,  are  proofs  of  natural  wicked 
ness,  or  signs  that  they  will  grow  up  bad  men  and  women. 
But  to  cut  the  matter  short,  the  girl  is  too  little  to  learn 
French.  She  is  not  old  enough  either  to  understand  it,  or  to 
remember  it,  and  you  see  it's  impossible  for  her  to  give  her 
mind  to  it.  So  from  this  time,  I  say,  she  shall  learn  no  more 
French  till  she  is  grown  up,  and  desires  it  herself.  (Little 
Anne  gave  a  skip  halfway  to  the  ceiling.')  You  shall  be  paid 
for  her  quarter  all  the  same,  and  I'll  pay  you  myself  on  the 
spot.  So  you  need  never  come  again. " 

Mr.  Ravigote  was  now  from  head  to  foot  all  one  smile ;  and 
bowing  with  his  hands  on  his  heart,  he,  at  %Uncle  Philip's 
desire,  mentioned  the  sum  due  for  a  quarter's  attempt  at  in 
struction.  Uncle  Philip  immediately  took  the  money  out  of 
his  pocket-book,  saying,  "  There, — there  is  a  dollar  over ;  but 
you  may  keep  it  yourself:  I  want  no  change.  I  suppose  my 
niece,  Kitty  Clavering,  will  not  be  pleased  at  my  sending  you 
off;  but  she  will  have  to  get  over  it;  for  I'll  see  that  child 
tormented  no  longer." 

Mr.  Ravigote  thought  in  his  own  mind,  that  the  torment 
had  been  much  greater  to  him  than  to  the  child ;  but  he  was 
so  full  of  gratitude,  that  he  magnanimously  offered  to  take  the 
blame  on  himself,  and  represent  to  Mrs.  Clavering  that  it  was 
his  own  proposal  to  give  up  Mademoiselle  Annette,  as  her  organ 
of  French  was  not  yet  developed. 

"No,  no,"  said  Uncle  Philip,  "I  am  always  fair  and 
above-board.  I  want  nobody  to  shift  the  blame  from  my 
shoulders  to  their  own.  "Whatever  I  do,  I'll  stand  by  man 
fully.  I  only  hope  that  you'll  never  again  attempt  to  teach 
French  to  babies." 

Mr.  Ravigote  took  leave  with  many  thanks,  and  on  turning 
to  bid  his  adieu  to  the  little  girl,  he  found  that  she  had  already 
vanished  from  the  parlour,  and  was  riding  about  the  green  on 
the  back  of  old  Neptune. 

When  Uncle  Philip  told  Mrs.  Clavering  of  his  dismissal  of 
Mr.  Ravigote,  she  was  so  deeply  vexed,  that  she  thought  it 
most  prudent  to  say  nothing,  lest  she  should  be  induced  to  say 
too  much. 

A  few  days  after  this  event,  Madame  Franchimeau  sent  an 
invitation,  written  in  French,  for  Mrs.  Clavering,  and  "  Mon 
sieur  Philippe"  to  pass  the  evening  at  her  house,  and  partake 
of  a  petit  souper,*  bringing  with  them  le  doux  Sammi^  and 

*  A  little  supper. 


110  UNCLE   PHILIP. 

la  belle  Fanchette*  This  supper  was  to  celebrate  the  birth 
day  of  her  niece,  Mademoiselle  Robertine,  who  had  just 
arrived  from  New  York,  and  was  to  spend  a  few  weeks  at 
Corinth. 

Uncle  Philip  had  never  yet  been  prevailed  on  to  enter  the 
French  house,  as  he  called  it ;  and  on  this  occasion  he  stoutly 
declared  off,  saying  that  he  had  no  desire  to  see  any  more  of 
their  foolery,  and  that  he  hated  the  thoughts  of  a  French 
supper.  "  My  friend,  Tom  Logbook,"  said  he,  "  who  com 
mands  the  packet  Louis  Quatorze,  and  understands  French, 
told  me  of  a  supper  to  which  he  was  invited  the  first  time  he 
was  at  Havre,  and  of  the  dishes  he  was  expected  to  eat,  and  I 
shall  take  care  never  to  put  myself  in  the  way  of  such  ridi 
culous  trash.  Why,  he  told  me  there  was  wooden-leg  soup, 
and  bagpipes  of  mutton,  and  rabbits  in  spectacles,  and  pullets 
in  silk  stockings,  and  potatoes  in  shirts. f  Answer  me  now, 
are  such  things  fit  for  Christians  to  eat  ?" 

For  a  long  time  Mrs.  Clavering  tried  in  vain  to  prevail  on 
Uncle  Philip  to  accept  of  the  invitation.  At  last  Dick  suggested 
a  new  persuasive.  "  Mother,"  said  he,  "  I  have  no  doubt  Uncle 
Philip  would  go  to  the  French  supper,  if  you  will  let  us  all 
have  a  holiday  from  school  for  a  week." 

"  That's  a  good  thought,  Dick,"  exclaimed  the  old  gentle 
man.  "  Yes,  I  think  I  would.  Well,  on  these  terms  I  will 
go,  and  eat  trash.  I  suppose  I  shall  live  through  it.  But 
remember  now,  this  is  the  first  and  last  and  only  time  I  will 
ever  enter  a  French  house." 

After  tea,  the  party  set  out  for  Monsieur  Franchimeau's, 
and  were  ushered  into  the  front  parlour,  which  was  fitted  up 
in  a  manner  that  exhibited  a  strange  melange  of  slovenliness 
and  pretension.  There  was  neither  carpet  nor  matting,  and 
the  floor  was  by  no  means  in  the  nicest  order ;  but  there  were 
three  very  large  looking-glasses,  the  plates  being  all  more  or 
less  cracked,  and  the  frames  sadly  tarnished.  The  chairs  were 
of  two  different  sorts,  and  of  very  ungenteel  appearance ;  but 
there  was  a  kind  of  Grecian  sofa,  or  lounge,  with  a  gilt  frame 
much  defaced,  and  a  red  damask  cover  much  soiled ;  and,  in 
the  centre  of  the  room,  stood  a  fauteuiQ  covered  with  blue 
moreen,  the  hair  poking  out  in  tufts  through  the  slits.  The 

*  The  gentle  Sammy  and  the  lovely  Fanchette. 

f  Soupe  d,  la  jambe  de  bois — musettes  de  mouton — lapins  en  lorgnettes — 
poulardes  en  has  de  soic — pommcs  de  terrc  en  chemise.     See  Ude,  &c. 
J  Easy  chair. 


UNCLE   PHILIP.  Ill 

windows  were  decorated  with  showy  curtains  of  coarse  pink 
muslin  and  marvellously  coarse  white  muslin ;  the  drapery 
suspended  from  two  gilt  arrows,  one  of  which  had  lost  its 
point,  and  the  other  had  parted  with  its  feather.  The  hearth 
was  filled  with  rubbish,  such  as  old  pens,  curl-papers,  and  bits 
of  rag ;  but  the  mantelpiece  was  adorned  with  vases  of  artifi 
cial  flowers  under  glass  bells,  and  two  elegant  chocolate  cups 
of  French  china. 

The  walls  were  hung  with  a  dozen  bad  lithographic  prints, 
tastefully  suspended  by  bows  of  gauze  ribbon.  Among  these 
specimens  of  the  worst  style  of  the  modern  French  school,  was 
a  Cupid  and  Psyche,  with  a  background  that  was  the  most 

£>minent  part  of  the  picture,  every  leaf  of  every  tree  on  the 
tant  mountains  being  distinctly  defined  and  smoothly  fin 
ished.  The  clouds  seemed  unwilling  to  stay  behind  the  hills, 
but  had  come  so  boldly  forward  and  looked  so  like  masses  of 
stone,  that  there  was  much  apparent  danger  of  their  falling 
on  the  heads  of  the  lovers  and  crushing  them  to  atoms. 
Psyche  was  an  immensely  tall,  narrow  woman,  of  a  certain 
age,  and  remarkably  strong  features ;  and  Cupid  was  a  slender 
young  man,  of  nineteen  or  twenty,  about  seven  feet  high,  with 
long  tresses  descending  to  his  waist. 

Another  print  represented  a  huge  muscular  woman,  with 
large  coarse  features  distorted  into  the  stare  and  grin  of  a 
maniac,  an  enormous  lyre  in  her  hand,  a  cloud  of  hair  flying 
in  one  direction,  and  a  volume  of  drapery  exhibiting  its  streaky 
folds  in  another ;  while  she  is  running  to  the  edge  of  a  preci 
pice,  as  if  pursued  by  a  mad  bull,  and  plunging  forward  with 
one  foot  in  the  air,  and  her  arms  extended  above  her  head. 
This  was  Sappho  on  the  rock  of  Leucate.  These  two  prints 
Mr.  Franchimeau  (who  professed  connoisseurship,  and  always 
talked  when  pictures  were  the  subject — that  is,  French  pic 
tures)  pointed  out  to  his  visiters  as  magnificent  emanations 
of  the  Fine  Arts.  "The  coarse  arts,  rather,"  murmured 
Uncle  Philip. 

The  guests  were  received  with  much  suavity  by  the  French 
ladies  and  the  vieux  papa ;  and  Capt.  Kentledge  was  introduced 
by  Madame  Franchimeau  to  three  little  black-haired  girls,  with 
surprisingly  yellow  faces,  who  were  designated  by  the  mother 
as  "  mon  aimalle  Lulu,  ma  miynonne  Mimi,  and  ma  petite 
ange  Gogo."*  Uncle  Philip  wondered  what  were  the  real 
names  of  these  children. 

*  My  lovely  Lulu,  my  darling  Mimi,  and  my  little  angel  Gogo. 


112  UNCLE   PHILIP. 

After  this,  Madame  Franchimeau  left  the  room  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  returned,  leading  in  a  very  pretty  young  girl,  whom 
she  introduced  as  her  tres  chcre  niece.  Mademoiselle  Robertine,* 
orphan  daughter  of  a  brother  of  her  respectable  Alphonse. 

Hobertine  had  a  neat  French  figure,  a  handsome  French 
face,  and  a  profusion  of  hair  arranged  precisely  in  the  newest 
style  of  the  wax  figures  that  decorate  the  windows  of  the  most 
fashionable  co!ffcurs.-\  She  was  dressed  in  a  thin  white  mus 
lin,  with  a  short  black  silk  apron,  embroidered  at  the  corners 
with  flowers  in  colours.  Mr.  Franchimeau  resigned  to  her 
his  chair  beside  Uncle  Philip,  to  whom  (while  her  aunt  and 
the  Ravigotes  were  chattering  and  shrugging  to  Mrs.  Claver- 
ing)  she  addressed  herself  with  considerable  fluency  and  in 
good  English.  People  who  have  known  but  little  of  the 
world,  and  of  the  best  tone  of  society,  are  apt,  on  being  intro 
duced  to  new  acquaintances,  to  talk  to  them  at  once  of  their 
profession,  or  in  reference  to  it ;  and  Robertine  questioned 
Uncle  Philip  about  his  ships  and  his  voyages,  and  took  occa 
sion  to  tell  him  that  she  had  always  admired  the  character  of 
a  sailor,  and  still  more  that  of  a  captain  ;  that  she  thought  the 
brown  tinge  given  by  the  sea  air  a  great  improvement  to  a  fine 
manly  countenance ;  that  fair-complexioned  people  were  her 
utter  aversion,  and  that  a  gentleman  was  never  in  his  best 
looks  till  he  had  attained  the  age  of  forty,  or,  indeed,  of  forty- 
five. 

"  Then  I  am  long  past  the  age  of  good  looks,"  said  Uncle 
Philip,  "  for  I  was  sixty-two  the  sixth  of  last  June." 

"  Is  it  possible  V  exclaimed  llobertine.  "  I  had  no  idea 
that  Captain  Kentledge  could  have  been  more  than  forty-three 
or  forty-four  at  the  utmost.  But  gentlemen  who  have  good 
health  and  amiable  dispositions,  never  seem  to  grow  old.  I 
have  known  some  who  were  absolutely  charming  even  at 
seventy." 

"  Pshaw  !"  said  Uncle  Philip,  half  aside. 

llobertine,  who  had  been  tutored  by  her  aunt  Franchimeau, 
ran  on  with  a  tirade  of  compliments  and  innueudos,  so  glaring 
as  to  defeat  their  own  purpose.  Sam,  who  sat  opposite,  and 
was  a  shrewd  lad,  saw  in  a  moment  her  design,  and  could  not 
forbear  at  times  casting  significant  looks  towards  his  uncle. 
The  old  captain  perfectly  comprehended  the  meaning  of  those 

*  Her  beloved  niece,  Miss  llobertine. 
f  Hair-dressers. 


UNCLE  PHILIP.  113 

looks,  and  perceived  that  Mademoiselle  Robertine  was  spread 
ing  her  net  for  him.  Determining  not  to  be  caught,  he 
received  all  her  smiles  with  a  contracted  brow ;  replied  only  in 
monosyllables;  and,  as  she  proceeded,  shut  his  teeth  firmly 
together,  closed  his  lips  tightly,  pressed  his  clenched  hands 
against  the  sides  of  his  chair,  and  sat  bolt  upright ;  resolved 
on  answering  her  no  more. 

About  nine  o'clock,  the  door  of  the  back  parlour  was  thrown 
open  by  the  little  mulatto  girl,  and  Madame  Franchirneau  was 
seen  seated  at  the  head  of  the  supper-table.  Mr.  Franchimeau 
led  in  Mrs.  Clavering;  Mr.  Ravigote  took  Fanny;  Madame 
Ravigote  gave  her  hand  to  Sam,  and  Robertine,  of  course,  fell 
to  the  lot  of  Uncle  Philip,  who  touched  with  a  very  ill  grace 
the  fingers  that  she  smilingly  extended  to  him. 

In  the  centre  of  the  supper-table  was  a  salad  decorated  with 
roses,  and  surrounded  by  four  candles.  The  chief  dish  con 
tained  Llanquettes  of  veal;  and  the  other  viands  were  a  fri- 
candeau  of  calves'  ears ;  a  puree  of  pigs'  tails ;  a  ragout  of 
sheep's  feet,  and  another  of  chickens'  pinions  interspersed 
with  claws ;  there  was  a  dish  of  turnips  with  mustard,  another 
of  cabbage  with  cheese,  a  bread  omelet,  a  plate  of  poached 
eggs,  a  plate  of  sugar-plums,  and  a  dish  of  hashed  fish;  which 
Madame  Franchimeau  called  &  farce. 

As  soon  as  they  were  seated,  Robertine  took  a  rose  from 
the  salad,  and  with  a  look  of  considerable  sentiment,  pre 
sented  it  to  Uncle  Philip,  who  received  it  with  a  silent  frown, 
and  took  an  opportunity  of  dropping  it  on  the  floor,  when  Sam 
slyly  set  his  foot  on  it  and  crushed  it  flat.  The  young  lady 
then  mixed  a  glass  of  eau  sucre*  for  the  old  gentleman,  saying 
very  sweet  things  all  the  time ;  but  the  beverage  was  as  little 
to  his  taste  as  the  Hebe  that  prepared  it. 

The  French  children  were  all  at  table,  and  the  youngest 
girl  looking  somewhat  unwell,  and  leaving  her  food  on  her 
plate,  caused  Mrs.  Clavering  to  make  a  remark  on  her  want 
of  appetite. 

"  N'importe"^  said  Madame  Franchimeau ;  f( she  is  not 
affamished ;  she  did  eat  very  hearty  at  her  tea ;  she  had  shes- 
noot  for  her  tea." 

"  Chestnuts  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Clavering. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  we  have  them  at  times.  N'importe,  my  little 
Gogo;  cease  your  supper,  you  will  have  the  better  appetite 

*  Sugar  and  water.  f  No  matter. 


114  UNCLE   PHILIP. 

for  your  breakfast.  You  shall  have  an  apple  for  your  break 
fast — a  large,  big  apple.  Monsieur  Philippe,  permit  me  to 
help  you  to  some  of  this  fish  ;  you  will  find  it  a  most  excellent 
farce  :*  I  have  preserved  it  from  corruption  by  a  process  of 
vinegar  and  salt,  and  some  charcoal.  Madame  Colavering,  I 
will  show  you  that  mode  of  restoring  fish  when  it  begins  to 
putrefy :  a  great  chemist  taught  it  to  my  assassined  Alphonse." 

Uncle  Philip  pushed  away  his  plate  with  unequivocal 
signs  of  disgust,  and  moved  back  his  chair,  determined  not  to 
taste  another  mouthful  while  he  stayed  in  the  house.  Suspi 
cious  of  everything,  he  even  declined  Robertine's  solicitations 
to  take  a  glass  of  liqueur  which  she  poured  out  for  him,  and 
which  she  assured  him  was  genuine  parfait  amour. "\  During 
supper,  she  had  talked  to  him,  in  a  low  voice,  of  the  great 
superiority  of  the  American  nation  when  compared  with  the 
French ;  and  regretted  the  frivolity  and  inconsequence  of  the 
French  character ;  but  assured  him  that  when  French  ladies 
had  the  honour  of  marrying  American  gentlemen,  they  always 
lost  that  inconsequence,  and  acquired  much  depth  and  force. 

After  supper,  Mr.  Franchimeau,  who,  notwithstanding  his 
taciturnity  and  brusquerie,  was  what  Uncle  Philip  called  a  Jack 
of  all  trades,  sat  down  to  an  old  out-of-tune  piano,  that  stood  in 
one  of  the  recesses  of  the  back  parlour,  and  played  an  insipid 
air  of  "  Paul  at  the  Tomb  of  Virginia,"  singing  with  a  hoarse 
stentorian  voice  half-a-dozen  namby-pamby  stanzas,  lengthen 
ing  out  or  contracting  some  of  the  words,  and  mispronouncing 
others  to  suit  the  measure  and  the  rhyme.  This  song,  how 
ever,  seemed  to  produce  great  effect  on  the  French  part  of  his 
audience,  who  sighed,  started,  and  exclaimed — "Ah!  quels 
sont  touchans,  ces  sent  linens  sublimes  T'^ 

"  Ma  chere  amie,"  continued  Madame  Franchimeau,  press 
ing  the  hand  of  Mrs.  Clavering,  " permettez  que  je  pleure  un 
peu  le  triste  destin  de  I1  innocence  et  de  la  vertu — infortuni 
Paul — malheureuse  FtVymw/;§  and  she  really  seemed  to 
shed  tears. 

Uncle  Philip  could  no  longer  restrain  himself,  but  he 
started  from  his  chair  and  paced  the  room  in  evident  discom- 

*  Farce,  in  French  cookery,  signifies  chopped  meat,  fish,  poultry, 
•well  seasoned  and  mixed  with  other  ingredients. 

I  Perfect  love. 

J  Ah !  how  touching  are  these  sublime  sentiments  ! 

$  My  dear  friend,  permit  me  to  weep  a  little  for  the  sad  fate  of 
innocence  and  virtue — unfortunate  Paul — hapless  Virginia. 


UNCLE   PHILIP.  115 

posure  at  the  folly  and  affectation  that  surrounded  him ;  his 
contempt  for  all  men  that  played  on  pianos  being  much 
heightened  by  the  absurd  appearance  of  the  huge  black- 
whiskered,  shock-headed  Monsieur  Franchimeau,  with  his 
long  frock-coat  hanging  down  all  over  the  music-stool.  Ro- 
bertine  declined  playing,  alleging  that  she  had  none  of  her 
own  music  with  her ;  and  she  privately  told  Uncle  Philip  that 
she  had  lost  all  relish  for  French  songs,  and  that  she  was  very 
desirous  of  learning  some  of  the  national  airs  of  America — 
for  instance,  the  Tars  of  Columbia.  But  still  Uncle  Philip's 
heart  was  iron-bound,  and  he  deigned  no  other  reply  than,  "I 
don't  believe  they'll  suit  you." 

A  dance  was  then  proposed  by  Madame  Ravigote,  and  Ro- 
bertine,  a  nothing  daunted,"  challenged  Uncle  Philip  to  lead 
off  with  her ;  but,  completely  out  of  patience,  he  turned  on 
his  heel,  and  walked  away  without  vouchsafing  an  answer. 
Robertine  then  applied  to  Sam,  but  with  no  better  success,  for 
as  yet  he  had  not  learned  that  accomplishment,  and  she  was 
finally  obliged  to  dance  with  old  Mr.  Ravigote,  while  Madame 
Franchimeau  took  out  her  mother;  Fanny  danced  with  the 
lovely  Lulu,  and  Mimi  and  Gogo  with  each  other;  Mr. 
Franchimeau  playing  cotillions  for  them. 

Uncle  Philip  thought  in  his  own  mind  that  the  dancing  was 
the  best  part  of  the  evening's  entertainment,  and  old  Madame 
Ravigote  was  certainly  the  best  of  the  dancers ;  though  none 
of  the  family  were  deficient  in  a  talent  which  seems  indigenous 
to  the  whole  French  nation. 

The  cotillions  were  succeeded  by  cream  of  tartar  lemonade, 
and  a  plate  of  sugar-plums  enfolded  in  French  mottoes,  from 
which  Robertine  selected  the  most  amatory,  and  presented 
them  to  Uncle  Philip,  who  regularly  made  a  point  of  giving 
them  all  back  to  her  in  silence,  determined  not  to  retain  a 
single  one,  lest  she  might  suppose  he  acknowledged  the  appli 
cation. 

The  old  gentleman  was  very  tired  of  the  visit,  and  glad 
enough  when  Mrs.  Clavering  proposed  departing.  And  all 
the  way  home  his  infatuated  niece  talked  to  him  in  raptures 
of  the  elegance  of  French  people,  and  the  vast  difference  be 
tween  them  and  the  Americans. 

"  There  is,  indeed,  a  difference,"  said  Uncle  Philip,  too  much 
fatigued  to  argue  the  point  that  night. 

Next  morning,  after  they  had  adjourned  to  the  cabin,  Sam 
addressed  the  old  gentleman  with;  "Well,  Uncle  Philip,  I 
10 


116  UNCLE   PHILIP. 

I 

•wish  you  joy  of  the  conquest  you  made  last  evening  of  the 
pretty  French  girl,  Miss  Robertine." 

"  A  conquest  of  her"  replied  Uncle  Philip,  indignantly ; 
{c  the  report  of  my  dollars  has  made  the  conquest.  I  am  not 
yet  old  enough  to  be  taken  in  by  such  barefaced  manoeuvring. 
No,  no ;  I  am  not  yet  in  my  dotage ;  and  I  heartily  despise  a 
young  girl  that  is  willing  to  sell  herself  to  a  man  old  enough 
to  be  her  father." 

"  I  am  glad  you  do,"  observed  Sam ;  "  I  have  often  heard 
my  mother  say  that  such  matches  never  fail  to  turn  out  badly, 
and  to  make  both  husband  and  wife  miserable.  We  all  think 
she  talks  very  sensibly  on  this  subject." 

"  No  doubt/7  said  Uncle  Philip. 

tl  I  really  wonder,"  pursued  Sam,  t(  that  a  Frenchwoman 
should  venture  to  make  love  to  you." 

"Love!"  exclaimed  Uncle  Philip;  "I  tell  you,  there's  no 
love  in  the  case.  I  am  not  such  a  fool  as  to  believe  that  a  pretty 
young  girl  could  fall  in  love  with  an  old  fellow  like  me.  No, 
no  ]  all  she  wants  is,  that  I  should  die  as  soon  as  possible  and 
leave  her  a  rich  widow :  but  she  will  find  her  mistake ;  she 
shall  see  that  all  her  sweet  looks  and  sweet  speeches  will  have 
no  effect  on  me  but  to  make  me  hate  her.  She  might  as  well 
attempt  to  soften  marble  by  dropping  honey  on  it." 

"  You'll  be  not  only  marble,  but  granite,  also,  won't  you, 
Uncle  Philip  ?"  said  Sam. 

"  That  I  will,  my  boy,"  said  the  old  gentleman ;  "  and  now 
let's  talk  of  something  else." 

After  this,  no  persuasion  could  induce  Uncle  Philip  to  repeat 
his  visit  to  the  Franchimeaus ;  and  when  any  of  that  family 
came  to  Mrs.  Clavering's  he  always  left  the  room  in  a  few 
minutes,  particularly  if  they  were  accompanied  by  Robertine. 
In  short,  he  now  almost  lived  in  his  cabin,  laying  strict  injunc 
tions  on  Mrs.  Clavering  not  to  bring  thither  any  of  the 
French. 

One  morning,  while  he  was  busy  there  with  Sam,  Dick,  and 
Neptune,  the  boys,  happening  to  look  out,  saw  Robertine  list 
lessly  rambling  on  the  bank  of  the  river,  and  entirely  alone. 
There  was  every  appearance  of  a  shower  coming  up.  "  I  sup 
pose,"  said  Dick,  "  Miss  Robertine  intends  going  to  our  house; 
and  if  she  does  not  make  haste,  she  will  be  caught  in  the  rain. 
There,  now,  she  is  looking  up  at  the  clouds.  See,  sec — she  is 
coming  this  way  as  fast  as  she  can." 


.- 

UNCLE   PHILIP.  117 

"  Confound  her  impudence !"  said  Uncle  Philip ;  "  is  she 
going  to  ferret  me  out  of  my  cabin  ?  Sam,  shut  that  door." 

"  Shall  I  place  the  great  chest  against  it  ?"  said  Sam. 

"Pho — no/'  replied  the  old  gentleman.  "With  all  her 
assurance,  she'll  scarcely  venture  to  break  in  by  force.  I 
would  not  for  a  thousand  dollars  that  she  should  get  a  footing 
here." 

Presently  a  knock  was  heard  at  the  door. 

"  There  she  is,"  said  Dick. 

"  Let  us  take  no  notice,"  said  Sam. 

"  After  all,"  said  Uncle  Philip,  "  she's  a  woman ;  and  a 
woman  must  not  be  exposed  to  the  rain,  when  a  man  can  give 
her  a  shelter.  We  must  let  her  in ;  nothing  else  can  be  done 
with  her." 

Upon  this,  Sam  opened  the  door ;  and  Robertine,  with  many 
apologies  for  her  intrusion,  expressed  her  fear  of  being  caught 
in  the  rain,  and  begged  permission  to  wait  there  till  the  shower 
was  over. 

"I  was  quite  lost  in  a  reverie,"  said  she,  "as  I  wandered 
on  the  shore  of  the  river.  Retired  walks  are  now  best  suited 
to  my  feelings.  When  the  heart  has  received  a  deep  impres 
sion,  nothing  is  more  delicious  than  to  sigh  in  secret." 

"Fudge  !"  muttered  Uncle  Philip  between  his  teeth. 

"Uncle  Philip  says  fudge,"  whispered  Dick  to  Sam. 

"  Pm  glad  of  it,"  whispered  Sam  to  Dick. 

Uncle  Philip  handed  Robertine  a  chair,  and  she  received 
this  commonplace  civility  with  as  much  evident  delight  as  if 
he  had  proffered  her  "the  plain  gold  ring." 

"  Sam,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "  run  to  the  house  as  fast 
as  you  can,  and  bring  an  umbrella,  and  then  see  Miss  Robert 
ine  home." 

"  That  I  will,  uncle,"  said  Sam,  with  alacrity. 

Robertine  then  began  to  admire  the  drawings  on  the  wall, 
and  said — "Apparently,  these  are  all  ships  that  Captain  Kent 
ledge  has  taken  in  battle  ?" 

"  No,"  replied  Uncle  Philip,  "  I  never  took  any  ship  in 
battle  'y  I  always  belonged  to  the  merchant  service." 

Robertine  was  now  at  fault ;  but  soon  recovering  herself, 
she  continued — "  No  doubt  if  you  had  been  in  battle,  you 
would  have  taken  ships ;  for  victory  always  crowns  the  brave, 
and  my  opinion  is,  that  all  Americans  are  brave  of  course  j 
particularly  if  they  are  gentlemen  of  the  sea." 


118  UNCLE   PHILIP. 

"And  have  plenty  of  cash/'  Uncle  Philip  could  not  avoid 
saving. 

Robertine  coloured  to  the  eyes ;  and  Uncle  Philip  checked 
himself,  seeing  that  he  had  been  too  severe  upon  her.  "  I 
must  not  forget  that  she  is  a  woman,"  thought  he;  "  while 
she  stays,  I  will  try  to  be  civil  to  her." 

But  Robertine  was  too  thoroughly  resolved  on  carrying  her 
point  to  be  easily  daunted ;  and,  in  half  a  minute,  she  said 
with  a  smile — "  I  see  that  Captain  Kentledge  will  always  have 
his  jest.  Wit  is  one  of  the  attributes  of  his  profession/' 

Her  admiration  of  the  ships  not  having  produced  much 
effect,  Robertine  next  betook  herself  to  admiring  the  dog 
Neptune,  who  was  lying  at  his  master's  feet,  and  she  gracefully 
knelt  beside  him  and  patted  his  head,  saying — "  What  a  mag 
nificent  animal !  The  most  splendid  dog  I  ever  saw  !  What 
a  grand  and  imposing  figure  !  How  sensible  and  expressive 
is  his  face  !" 

Dick  found  it  difficult  to  suppress  an  involuntary  giggle, 
for  it  struck  him  that  Robertine  must  have  heard  the  remark 
which  was  very  current  through  the  village,  of  Neptune's  face 
having  a  great  resemblance  to  Uncle  Philip's  own. 

Where  is  the  man  that,  being  u  the  fortunate  possessor  of 
a  Newfoundland  dog/7  can  hear  his  praises  without  emotion  ? 
Uncle  Philip's  ice  began  to  thaw.  All  the  blandishments  that 
Robertine  had  lavished  on  himself,  caused  no  other  effect  than 
disgust;  but  the  moment  she  appeared  to  like  his  dog,  his 
granite  heart  began  to  soften,  and  he  felt  a  disposition  to  like 
her  in  return.  He  cast  a  glance  towards  Robertine  as  she 
caressed  old  Neptune,  and  he  thought  her  so  pretty  that  the 
glance  was  succeeded  by  a  gaze.  He  put  out  his  hand  to 
raise  her  from  her  kneeling  attitude,  and  actually  placed  a 
chair  for  her  beside  his  own.  Robertine  thought  herself  in 
Paradise,  for  she  saw  that  her  last  arrow  had  struck  the  mark. 
Uncle  Philip's  stubborn  tongue  was  now  completely  loosened, 
and  he  entered  into  an  eloquent  detail  of  the  numerous  excel 
lencies  of  the  noble  animal,  and  related  a  story  of  his  life 
having  been  saved  by  Neptune  during  a  shipwreck. 

To  all  this  did  Robertine  "  most  seriously  incline."  She 
listened  with  breathless  interest,  was  startled,  terrified,  anx 
ious,  delighted,  and  always  in  the  right  place;  and  when  tho 
story  was  finished,  she  pronounced  Newfoundland  dogs  the 
best  of  all  created  aninials;  and  Neptune  the  best  of  all  New 
foundland  dogs. 


UNCLE   PHILIP.  119 

Just  then  Sam  arrived  with  the  umbrella. 

"Sam,"  said  Uncle  Philip,  "you  may  give  me  the  umbrella; 
I  will  see  Miss  Robertine  home  myself.  But  I  think  she  had 
better  wait  till  the  rain  is  over." 

This  last  proposal  llobertine  thought  it  most  prudent  to 
decline,  fearing  that  if  she  stayed  till  the  rain  ceased,  Uncle 
Philip  might  no  longer  think  it  necessary  to  escort  her  home. 
Accordingly  the  old  gentleman  gave  her  his  arm,  and  walked 
off  with  her  under  the  umbrella.  As  soon  as  they  were  gone, 
Sam  and  Dick  laughed  out,  and  compared  notes. 

In  the  afternoon,  after  spending  a  considerable  time  at  his 
toilet,  Uncle  Philip,  without  saying  anything  to  the  family, 
told  one  of  the  servants  that  he  should  not  drink  tea  at  home, 
and  sallied  off  in  the  direction  of  Franchimeau's.  He  did  not 
return  till  ten  o'clock,  and  then  went  straight  to  bed  without 
entering  the  sitting-room.  The  truth  was,  that  when  he 
conveyed  Robertine  home  in  the  morning,  he  could  not  resist 
her  invitation  into  the  house ;  and  he  sat  there  long  enough 
for  Madame  Ravigote  (who,  in  frightful  dishabille,  was  darn 
ing  stockings  in  the  parlour)  to  see  that  things  wore  a  pro 
mising  aspect.  The  old  lady  went  to  the  school-room  door,  and 
called  out  Madame  Franchimeau  to  inform  her  of  the  favourable 
change  in  the  state  of  affairs :  and  it  was  decided  that  le  vieux 
Philippe  *  (as  they  called  him  behind  the  scenes,  for  none  of 
them,  except  Robertine,  could  say  Kentledge),  should  be  in 
vited  to  tea,  that  the  young  lady  might  have  an  immediate 
opportunity  of  following  up  the  success  of  the  morning. 

Next  morning,  about  eleven  o'clock,  Uncle  Philip  disap 
peared  again,  and  was  seen  no  more  till  dinner-time.  When 
he  came  in,  he  took  his  seat  at  the  table  without  saying  a  word, 
and  there  was  something  unusually  queer  in  his  look,  and 
embarrassed  in  all  his  motions ;  and  the  children  thought  that 
he  did  not  seem  at  all  like  himself.  Little  Anne,  who  sat 
always  at  his  right  hand,  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  looked 
behind  him,  and  then  suddenly  exclaimed — "Why,  Uncle 
Philip  has  had  his  queue  cut  off!" 

There  was  a  general  movement  of  surprise.  Uncle  Philip 
reddened,  hesitated,  and  at  last  said,  in  a  confused  manner, 
"  that  he  had  for  a  long  time  thought  his  queue  rather  trouble 
some,  and  that  he  had  recently  been  told  that  it  made  him 
look  ten  years  older  than  he  really  was;  and,  therefore,  he 

*  Old  Philip. 
10* 


120  UNCLE  PHILIP. 

had  stopped  at  the  barber's,  on  his  way  home,  and  got  rid 
of  it," 

Mrs.  Clavering  had  never  admired  the  queue;  hut  she 
thought  the  loss  of  it,  just  at  this  juncture,  looked  particularly 
ominous. 

In  the  afternoon  she  received  a  visit  from  her  friend,  Mrs. 
Slimbridge,  who  was  scarcely  seated  when  she  commenced 
with — "  Well,  Mrs.  Clavering,  I  understand  you  are  shortly  to 
have  a  new  aunt,  and  I  have  come  to  congratulate  you  on  the 
joyful  occasion." 

"A  new  aunt?"  said  Mrs.  Clavering;  '"I  am  really  at  a 
loss  to  understand  your  meaning  !"  looking,  however,  as  if  she 
understood  it  perfectly. 

"  Why,  certainly,"  replied  Mrs.  Slimbridge,  "  it  can  be  no 
news  to  you  that  Captain  Kentledge  is  going  to  be  married  to 
Madame  Franchimeau's  niece,  Mademoiselle  Hobertine.  He 
was  seen,  yesterday  morning,  walking  with  her  under  the  same 
umbrella !" 

"Well,  and  what  of  that?"  interrupted  Mrs.  Clavering, 
fretfully  ;  "  does  a  gentleman  never  hold  an  umbrella  over  a 
lady's  head  unless  he  intends  to  marry  her  ?" 

"  Oh,  as  yet  they  do,"  replied  Mrs.  Slimbridge,  "  but  I 
know  not  how  much  longer  even  that  piece  of  civility  will  be 
continued — gentlemen  are  now  so  much  afraid  of  committing 
themselves.  But  seriously,  his  seeing  her  home  in  the  rain 
is  not  the  most  important  part  of  the  story.  He  drank  tea  at 
Franchimeau's  last  evening,  and  paid  a  long  visit  at  the  house 
this  morning ;  and  Emilie,  their  mulatto  girl,  told  Mrs.  Pinx- 
ton's  Mary,  and  my  Phillis  had  it  direct  from  her,  that  she 
overheard  Miss  Robertine,  persuading  Captain  Kentledge  to 
have  his  queue  cut  off.  The  good  gentleman,  it  seems,  held 
out  for  a  long  time,  but  at  last  consented  to  lose  it.  However, 
I  do  not  vouch  for  the  truth  of  that  part  of  the  statement.  Old 
seafaring  men  are  so  partial  to  their  hair,  and  it  is  a  point  on 
which  they  are  so  obstinate,  that  I  scarcely  think  Miss  Rober 
tine  would  have  ventured  so  far." 

"  Some  young  girls  have  boldness  enough  for  anything," 
said  Mrs.  Clavering,  with  a  toss  of  her  head,  and  knowing  in 
her  own  mind  that  the  queue  was  really  off. 

"Well,"  continued  Mrs.  Slimbridge,  "the  story  is  all  over 
town  that  it  is  quite  a  settled  thing ;  and,  as  I  said,  I  have 
hastened  to  congratulate  you." 


UNCLE  PHILIP.  121 

"  Congratulate  me  !  For  what  ?"  said  Mrs.  Clavering,  with 
much  asperity. 

"Why,"  returned  Mrs.  Slimbridge,  "you  know  these 
French  people  are  your  bosom  friends,  and  of  course  you  must 
rejoice  in  the  prospect  of  a  nearer  connexion  with  them.  To 
be  sure,  it  would  be  rather  more  gratifying  if  Miss  Robertine 
was  in  a  somewhat  higher  walk  of  life.  You  know  it  is  whis 
pered,  that  she  is  only  a  mantuamaker's  girl,  and  that  the 
dear  friend  whom  Madame  Franchimeau  talks  about,  as  hav 
ing  adopted  her  beloved  Robertine  (though  she  takes  care 
never  to  mention  the  name  of  that  dear  friend),  is  in  reality 
no  other  than  the  celebrated  Madame  Gigot,  in  whose  dress 
making  establishment  Mademoiselle  is  hired  to  work." 

"  Horrible  !"  was  Mrs.  Clavering's  involuntary  exclamation; 
but  recovering  herself,  she  continued — "  But  I  can  assure  you, 
Mrs.  Sliinbridge,  that  I  am  perfectly  convinced  there  is  not  a 
word  of  truth  in  the  whole  story.  Captain  Kentledge  has 
certainly  his  peculiarities,  but  he  is  a  man  of  too  much  sense 
to  marry  a  young  wife ;  and  besides,  his  regard  for  my  children 
is  so  great,  that  I  am  convinced  it  is  his  firm  intention  to  live 
single  for  their  sakes,  that  he  may  leave  them  the  whole  of  his 
property.  He  thinks  too  much  of  the  family  to  allow  his 
money  to  go  out  of  it." 

"  All  that  may  be,"  answered  Mrs.  Slimbridge ;  "  but  when 
an  old  man  falls  in  love  with  a  young  girl,  his  regard  for  his 
own  relations  generally  melts  away  like  snow  before  the  fire. 
I  think  you  had  better  speak  to  Captain  Kentledge  on  the 
subject.  I  advise  you,  as  a  friend,  to  do  so,  unless  you  con 
clude  that  opposition  may  only  render  him  the  more  deter 
mined.  Certainly  one  would  not  like  to  lose  so  much  money 
out  of  the  family,  without  making  a  little  struggle  to  retain  it. 
However,  I  must  now  take  my  leave.  As  a  friend,  I  advise 
you  to  speak  to  Captain  Kentledge." 

"  I  can  assure  you,"  replied  Mrs.  Clavering,  as  she  accom 
panied  her  guest  to  the  door,  "  this  silly  report  gives  me  not 
the  slightest  uneasiness,  as  it  is  too  absurd  to  merit  one  serious 
thought.  I  shall  dismiss  it  from  my  mind  with  silent  con 
tempt.  To  mention  it  to  Captain  Kentledge  would  be  really 
too  ridiculous." 

As  soon  as  she  had  got  rid  of  her  visiter,  Mrs.  Clavering 
hastily  threw  on  her  calash,  and  repaired  at  a  brisk  pace  to 
Uncle  Philip's  cabin.  She  found  him  at  his  desk,  busily  em 
ployed  in  writing  out  for  Robertine  the  words  of  "  America, 


122  UNCLE   PHILIP. 

Commerce,  and  Freedom."  She  made  a  pretext  for  sending 
away  Sam,  and  told  Uncle  Philip  that  she  wished  some  private 
conversation  with  him.  The  old  gentleman  coloured,  laid  down 
his  pen,  and  began  to  sit  very  uneasy  on  his  chair;  guessing 
what  was  to  come. 

Mrs.  Clavering  then,  without  further  hesitation,  acquainted 
him  with  all  she  had  heard,  and  asked  him  if  it  could  possibly 
be  true  that  he  had  any  intention  of  marrying  Robertine. 

"I  don't  know  but  I  shall,"  said  Uncle  Philip. 

"  You  really  shock  me  I"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Clavering. 

"What  is  there  so  shocking,"  replied  the  old  gentleman, 
"in  my  liking  a  pretty  girl — ay,  and  in  making  her  my  wife, 
too,  if  I  think  proper  ?  But  that's  as  it  may  be — I  have  not 
yet  made  her  the  offer." 

Mrs.  Clavering  breathed  again.  "Really,  Uncle  Philip," 
said  she,  "  I  thought  you  had  more  sense,  and  knew  more  of 
the  world.  Can  you  not  see  at  once  that  all  she  wants  is  your 
money  ?  It  is  impossible  she  could  have  any  other  induce 
ment." 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  compliment,"  said  Uncle  Philip, 
pulling  up  his  shirt  collar  and  taking  a  glance  at  the  looking- 
glass. 

"  Is  the  man  an  absolute  fool  ?"  thought  Mrs.  Clavering : 
"  what  can  have  got  into  him  ?"  Then  raising  her  voice,  she 
exclaimed — "  Is  this,  then,  the  end  of  all  your  aversion  to  the 
French  ?" 

"  Then  you  should  not  have  put  the  French  in  my  way," 
said  Uncle  Philip  :  "it  is  all  your  own  fault;  and  if  I  should 
play  the  fool,  you  have  nobody  to  thank  but  yourself.  Why 
did  you  make  me  go  to  that  supper  ?" 

"Why,  indeed  !"  replied  Mrs.  Clavering,  with  a  sigh  :  "but 
knowing  how  much  you  dislike  foreigners  and  all  their  ways, 
Buch  an  idea  as  your  foiling  in  love  with  a  French  girl  never 
for  a  moment  entered  my  mind.  But  I  can  tell  you  one  thing 
that  will  effectually  put  all  thoughts  of  Miss  Robertine  out  of 
your  head." 

"What  is  that?"  said  Uncle  Philip,  starting  and  changing 
colour. 

"  When  I  tell  you  that  she  is  a  mantuamaker,"  pursued 
Mrs.  Clavering,  "  and  in  the  employ  of  Madame  Gigot  of  New 
York,  you,  of  course,  can  never  again  think  of  her  as  a  wife." 

"  And  why  not  ?"  said  Uncle  Philip,  recovering  himself — 
"  why  should  not  a  mantuamaker  be  thought  of  as  a  wife  ?  If 


UNCLE   PHILIP.  123 

that's  all  you  have  to  say  against  her,  it  only  makes  me  like 
her  the  better.  I  honour  the  girl  for  engaging  in  a  business 
that  procures  her  a  decent  living,  and  prevents  her  from  being 
burdensome  to  her  friends.  Don't  you  know  that  a  man  can 
always  raise  his  wife  to  his  own  level  ?  It  is  only  a  woman 
that  sinks  by  marrying  beneath  her ;  as  I  used  to  tell  you  when 
you  fell  in  love  with  the  players,  the  first  winter  you  spent  in 
New  York." 

"  I  deny  the  players — I  deny  them  altogether/7  said  Mrs. 
Clavering,  with  much  warmth :  "  all  I  admired  was  their 
spangled  jackets  and  their  caps  and  feathers,  and  I  had  some 
curiosity  to  see  how  they  looked  off  the  stage,  and  therefore 
was  always  glad  when  I  met  any  of  them  in  the  street." 

"Well,  well,"  replied  Uncle  Philip,  "let  the  players  pass; 
I  was  only  joking." 

"  And  even  if  it  were  true,"  resumed  Mrs.  Clavering,  "  that 
I  had  particularly  admired  one  or  two  of  the  most  distinguished 
performers,  I  was  then  but  a  mere  child,  and  there  is  a  great 
difference  between  playing  the  fool  at  sixteen  and  at  sixty." 

"  I  don't  see  the  folly,"  said  Uncle  Philip,  "  of  marrying  a 
pretty  young  girl,  who  is  so  devotedly  attached  to  me  that  she 
cannot  possibly  help  showing  it  continually." 

"  Robertine  attached  to  you !"  retorted  Mrs.  Clavering. 
a  And  can  you  really  believe  such  an  absurdity  ?" 

"I  thank  you  again  for  the  compliment,"  replied  Uncle 
Philip :  a  but  I  know  that  such  things  have  been,  strange  as 
they  may  appear  to  you.  I  believe  I  have  all  my  life  under 
valued  myself;  and  this  young  lady  has  opened  my  eyes." 

"Blinded  them,  rather,"  said  Mrs.  Clavering.  "But  for 
your  own  sake,  let  me  advise  you  to  give  up  this  girl.  No 
marriage,  where  there  is  so  great  a  disparity  of  years,  ever  did 
or  could,  or  ever  will  or  can,  turn  out  well — and  so  you  will 
find  to  your  sorrow." 

"  I  rather  think  I  shall  try  the  experiment,"  said  Uncle 
Philip.  "  If  I  am  convinced  that  Miss  Robertine  has  really 
a  sincere  regard  for  me,  I  shall  certainly  make  her  Mrs.  Kent 
ledge — so  I  must  tell  you  candidly  that  you  need  not  say  another 
word  to  me  on  the  subject." 

He  resumed  his  writing,  and  Mrs.  Clavering,  after  pausing 
a  few  moments,  saw  the  inutility  of  urging  anything  further, 
and  walked  slowly  and  sadly  back  to  the  house.  The  child 
ren's  quarters  at  school  had  nearly  expired,  and  she  delighted 
them  all  with  the  information  that,  finding  they  had  not  made 


124  TINGLE   PHILIP. 

as  much  progress  in  French  as  she  had  expected,  and  having 
reason  to  believe  that  the  plan  of  learning  everything  through 
the  medium  of  that  language  was  not  a  good  one,  she  had  de 
termined  that  after  this  week  they  should  quit  Monsieur  and 
Madame  Franchimeau,  and  return  to  Mr.  Fulmer  and  Miss 
Hickman.  She  ceased  visiting  the  French  family,  who,  con 
scious  that  they  would  now  be  unwelcome  guests,  did  not  ap 
proach  Mrs.  Clavering' s  house.  But  Uncle  Philip  regularly 
spent  every  evening  with  Robertine ;  and  Mrs.  Clavering  did 
not  presume  openly  to  oppose  what  she  now  perceived  to  bo 
his  fixed  intention ;  but  she  indulged  herself  in  frequent  in 
nuendoes  against  everything  French,  which  the  old  gentleman 
was  ashamed  to  controvert,  knowing  how  very  recently  he  had 
been  in  the  practice  of  annoying  his  niece  by  the  vehement 
expression  of  his  own  prejudices  against  that  singular  people ; 
and  he  could  not  help  acknowledging  to  himself  that  though 
he  liked  Robertine,  all  the  rest  of  her  family  were  still  fools. 
That  the  Franchimeaus  and  Ravigotes  were  ridiculous,  vulgar 
pretenders,  Mrs.  Clavering  was  no  longer  slow  in  discovering  j 
but  she  was  so  unjust  as  to  consider  them  fair  specimens  of 
their  nation,  and  to  turn  the  tables  so  completely  as  to  aver 
that  nothing  French  was  endurable.  She  even  silenced  the 
parrots  whenever  they  said,  "  Parlons  toujours  Frangois"* 

One  morning  Uncle  Philip  was  surprised  in  his  cabin  by  the 
sudden  appearance  of  a  very  tall,  very  slender  young  French 
man,  dressed  in  the  extreme  of  dandyism ;  his  long,  thin  face 
was  of  deadly  whiteness,  but  his  cheeks  were  tinted  with 
rouge ;  he  had  large  black  eyes,  and  eyebrows  arched  up  to  a 
point;  his  immense  whiskers  were  reddish,  and  met  under 
his  chin ;  but  his  hair  was  black,  and  arranged  with  great 
skill  and  care  according  to  the  latest  fashion,  and  filling  the 
apartment  with  the  perrume  of  attar  of  roses. 

Immediately  on  entering,  he  strode  up  to  Uncle  Philip, 
and  extending  a  hand  whose  fingers  were  decorated  with  half 
a  dozen  showy  rings,  presented  to  him  a  highly-scented  rose- 
coloured  card,  which  announced  him  as  "  Monsieur  Achille 
Simagree  de  Lantiponne,  of  Paris." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Uncle  Philip,  "and  I  am  Captain  Philip 
Kentledge,  once  of  Salem,  Massachusetts,  and  now  of  Corinth, 
New  York." 

"Oui}je  le  scus/'t  replied  the  Frenchman,  in  a  loud  shrill 

*  Let  us  always  speak  French, 
f  Yes,  I  know  it. 


UNCLE   PHILIP.  125 

voice,  and  with  a  frown  that  was  meant  to  be  terrific.  "  Oui, 
perfide — traitre — -presquc  scelerat — tremblez  !  Je  vous  connois 
— tremblez,  trcmbiez,  je  vous  dill  Moi}  c'cst  moi  cjui  vous 
/"* 

"  What's  all  this  for  ?"  said  Uncle  Philip,  looking  amazed. 

11  Imbecil,"  muttered  Monsieur  de  Lantiponue  ;  "  il  ne  com- 
pr end  pas  le  Frangais.-f  Eh,  bien  ;  I  will,  then,  address  you 
(roturier  comma  vous  ttesfy  in  perfect  English,  and  very  cool. 
How  did  you  dare  to  have  the  temerity  to  rob  from  me  the 
young  miss,  my  fiancee,  very  soon  my  bride.  Next  month  I 
should  have  conducted  her  up  to  the  front  of  the  altar.  I 
had  just  taken  four  apartments  in  the  Broadway — two  for  the 
exercise  of  my  profession  of  artist  in  hair,  and  merchant  of 
perfumes  and  all  good  smells;  and  two  up  the  staircase,  where 
Mademoiselle  Robertine  would  pursue  her  dresses  and  her 
bonnets.  United  together,  we  should  have  made  a  large  for 
tune.  My  father  was  a  part  of  the  noblesse  of  France,  but 
we  lost  all  our  nobleness  by  the  revolution.  ( Virtue,  though 
unfortunate,  is  always  respectable;'  that  sentiment  was  in 
scribed  above  the  door  of  my  mamma's  shop  in  the  Palais 
Royal," 

"Well,"  said  Uncle  Philip,  "and  what  next?" 

"  What  next,  coquin?"§  continued  the  Frenchman,  grinding 
his  teeth.  "  Listen  and  die.  Yesterday,  I  received  from  her 
this  letter,  enfolding  a  ring  of  my  hair  which  once  I  had 
plaited  for  her.  Now,  I  will  overwhelm  you  with  shame  and 
repentance  by  reading  to  you  this  fatal  letter,  translating  it 
into  perfect  English.  Ah  I  comme  il  est  difficile  d  etouffer 
mes  emotions  I  N' importe,  il  faut  un  grand  effort  "\\ 

"Take  a  chair,"  said  Uncle  Philip,  who  was  curious  to 
know  how  all  this  would  end ;  "  when  people  are  in  great 
trouble,  they  had  better  be  seated." 

" Ecoutez,"9^  said  Lantiponne;  "hear  this  lettre."  He 
then  commenced  the  epistle,  first  reading  audibly  a  sentence 
in  French,  and  then  construing  it  into  English  : — 

*  Yes,  perfidious  man — traitor — almost  rascal — tremble.  I  know 
you — tremble,  tremble.  I  tell  you — I — it  is  I  that  am  speaking  to 
you. 

f  Idiot — he  does  not  understand  French. 

j  Plebeian  as  you  are.  $  Knave. 

||  Ah !  how  difficult  it  is  to  stifle  my  emotions  !   No  matter,  I  must 
make  a  great  effort. 
Listen. 


126  UNCLE  PHILIP. 

CORINTH, . 

MY  EVER  DEAR  FRIEND  ! 

Destiny  has  decreed  the  separation  of  two  hearts  that  should 
have  been  disunited  by  death  alone,  and  has  brought  me  ac 
quainted  with  an  old  man  who,  since  the  moment  of  our 
introduction,  has  never  ceased  to  persecute  me  with  the  lan 
guage  of  love.  In  vain  did  I  fly  from  him — for  ever  did  he 
present  himself  before  me  with  the  most  audacious  persever 
ance.  My  aunt  (and  what  affectionate  niece  can  possibly 
disobey  the  commands  of  her  father's  sister-in-law?)  has 
ordered  me  to  accept  him ;  and  I  must  now,  like  a  mournful 
dove,  be  sacrificed  on  the  altar  of  Plutus.  His  name  is  Cap 
tain  Kentledge,  but  we  generally  call  him  Old  Philip — 
sometimes  the  Triton,  and  sometimes  Sinbad,  for  he  is  a  sailor, 
and  very  rich.  He  is  a  stranger  both  to  elegance  and  senti 
ment  j  of  an  exterior  perfectly  revolting ;  and  his  manners  are 
distinguished  by  a  species  of  brutality.  It  is  impossible  for 
me  to  regard  him  without  horror.  But  duty  is  the  first  con 
sideration  of  a  niece,  and,  though  the  detestable  Philip  knows 
that  my  heart  is  devoted  to  my  amiable  Achille,  he  takes  a 
savage  pleasure  in  urging  me  to  name  the  day  of  our  marriage. 
Compassionate  me,  my  ever  dear  Lantiponne.  I  know  it  will 
be  long  before  the  wounds  of  our  faithful  hearts  are  cicatrized. 

I  return  you  the  little  ring  (so  simple  and  so  touching) 
that  you  made  me  of  your  hair.  But  I  will  keep  for  ever  the 
gold  essence-bottle  and  the  silver  toothpick,  as  emblems  of 
your  tenderness.  I  shall  often  bathe  them  with  my  tears. 

Adieu,  my  dear  friend — my  long-beloved  Lantiponne.  As 
Philip  Kentledge  is  very  bald,  I  shall,  when  we  are  married, 
compel  hiii.  to  wear  a  wig,  and  I  will  take  care  that  he  buys 
it  of  you.  Likewise,  we  shall  get  all  our  perfumery  at  your 
shop. 

The  inconsolable 

ROBERTINE. 

There  are  moments  when  my  affliction  is  so  great,  that  I 
think  seriously  of  charcoal.  If  you  find  it  impossible  to  sur 
vive  the  loss  of  your  Robertine,  that  is  the  mode  of  death 
which  you  will  undoubtedly  select,  as  being  most  generally 
approved  in  Paris.  For  my  own  part,  reason  has  triumphed, 
and  I  think  it  more  heroic  to  live  and  to  suffer. 

Uncle  Philip  listened  to  this  letter  with  all  the  indignation 
it  was  calculated  to  excite.  But  Sam  and  Dick  were  so  di- 


UNCLE   PHILIP.  127 

verted  that  they  could  not  refrain  from  laughing  all  the  time ; 
and  towards  the  conclusion,  the  old  gentleman  caught  the 
contagion,  and  laughed  also. 

"Ah!  scelerat — monstre — ogre!"*  exclaimed  Lantiponne 
— "  do  you  make  your  amusement  of  my  sorrows  ?  Render 
me,  on  this  spot,  the  satisfaction  due  to  a  gentleman.  It  is 
for  that  I  am  come.  Behold — here  I  offer  you  two  pistoles — 
make  your  selection.  Choose  one  this  moment,  or  you  die." 

"Sam,"  said  Uncle  Philip,  "hand  me  that  stick." 

"Which  one,  uncle?"  exclaimed  Sarn — "the  hickory  or 
the  maple  ?" 

"  The  hickory,"  replied  Uncle  Philip. 

And  as  soon  as  he  got  it  into  his  hand,  he  advanced  towards 
the  Frenchman,  who  drew  back,  but  still  extended  the  pistols, 
saying — "  I  will  shoot  off  both — instantly  I  will  present  fire !" 

"  Present  fire  if  you  dare,"  said  Uncle  Philip,  brandishing 
his  stick. 

Monsieur  Simagre*e  de  Lantiponne  lowered  his  pistols  and 
walked  backward  towards  the  door,  which  was  suddenly  thrown 
open  from  without,  so  as  nearly  to  push  him  down,  and  Ro- 
bertine  entered,  followed  by  Madame  Franchimeau.  At  the 
sight  of  Lantiponne,  both  ladies  exclaimed — "Ah  !  perfide  ! 
traitre  !"  and  a  scene  of  violent  recrimination  took  place  in 
French — Madame  Franchimeau  declaring  that  she  had  never 
influenced  her  niece  to  give  up  her  first  lover  for  "  Monsieur 
Philippe,"  but  that  the  whole  plan  had  originated  with  Ro- 
bortine  herself.  Lantiponne,  in  deprecating  the  inconstancy 
of  his  mistress,  complained  bitterly  of  the  useless  expense  he 
had  incurred  in  hiring  four  rooms,  when  two  would  have 
sufficed,  had  he  known  in  time  that  she  intended  to  jilt  him. 
Robertine  reproached  him  with  his  dishonourable  conduct  in 
betraying  her  confidence  and  showing  her  letter  to  the  very 
person  who,  above  all  others,  ought  not  to  have  seen  it ;  and 
she  deeply  regretted  having  been  from  home  with  her  aunt 
and  uncle  when  Lantiponne  came  to  their  house  immediately 
on  his  arrival  at  Corinth,  and  before  he  had  sought  an  inter 
view  with  Captain  Kentledge.  He  had  seen  only  the  old 
Ravigotcs,  who  were  so  impolitic  as  to  give  him  a  direction 
to  Uncle  Philip's  cabin,  as  soon  as  he  inquired  where  his  rival 
was  to  be  found. 

The  altercation  was  so  loud  and  so  violent,  that  Uncle  Philip 

*  Ah  !  villain — monster — ogre. 


128  UNCLE   PHILIP. 

finally  demanded  silence  in  the  startling  and  authoritative  tone 
to  which  he  had  accustomed  himself  when  issuing  his  orders 
on  ship-board ;  putting  his  hands  before  his  mouth  and  hal 
looing  through  them  as  substitutes  for  a  speaking  trumpet. 
He  was  not  so  uugallant  as  to  say  that  in  reality  the  lady  had 
made  the  first  advances,  but  he  addressed  his  audience  in  the 
following  words : — 

"I  tell  you  what,  my  friends,  here's  a  great  noise  to  little 
purpose,  and  much  shrugging,  and  stamping,  and  flourishing 
of  hands,  that  might  as  well  be  let  alone.  As  for  me,  take 
notice,  that  I  am  quite  out  of  the  question,  and  after  this  day 
I'll  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  any  of  you.  I'm  thankful 
to  this  young  fellow  for  having  opened  my  eyes ;  though  I 
can't  approve  of  his  .showing  me  his  sweetheart's  letter.  He 
has  saved  me  from  the  greatest  act  of  folly  an  old  man  can 
commit,  that  of  marrying  a  young  girl.  I  shall  take  care  not 
to  make  a  jackass  of  myself  another  time." 

Sam  and  Dick  exchanged  looks  of  congratulation. 

"Now,"  continued  Uncle  Philip,  "if,  after  all  this,  the 
young  barber-man  is  still  willing  to  take  the  girl,  I  know  not 
what  better  either  of  them  can  do  than  to  get  married  off-hand. 
I  shall  not  feel  quite  satisfied  till  I  have  seen  the  ceremony 
myself,  so  let  it  take  place  immediately.  I  happen  to  have 
a  hundred  dollar  bill  in  my  pocket-book,  so  I'll  give  it  to 
them  for  a  wedding  present.  Come,  I'm  waiting  for  an 
answer." 

Madame  Franchinieau  and  the  young  couple  all  hesitated. 

" Uncle,"  whispered  Sam,  "they  have  just  been  quarrelling 
violently — how  can  you  expect  them  to  get  over  it  so  soon, 
and  be  married  directly  ?" 

"Pho  !"  replied  Uncle  Philip,  "an't  they  French  ?" 

There  was  a  pause  of  some  moments.  At  last  Robertine 
put  on  her  best  smile,  and  said  in  French  to  Lantiponne — 
"  My  estimable  friend,  pardon  the  errors  of  a  young  and  simple 
heart,  which  has  never  for  a  moment  ceased  to  love  you." 

"What  candour  !"  exclaimed  Lantiponne — "what  adorable 
frankness  !  Charming  Robertine  !" — kissing  her  hand — "  more 
dear  to  me  than  ever." 

The  aunt,  though  much  displeased  at  Robertine  for  missing 
Uncle  Philip,  thought  it  best  that  the  affair  should  go  off  with 
as  good  a  grace  as  possible,  and  she  exclaimed,  while  she 
wiped  tears  of  vexation  from  her  eyes — "  How  sweet  to  witness 
this  reunion  !" 


UNCLE   PHILIP.  129 

"Boys,"  said  Uncle  Philip,  "which  of  you  will  run  for 
Squire  Van  Tackemfast  ?  To  prevent  all  future  risks,  we'll 
have  the  marriage  here  on  the  spot,  and  Miss  Robertine  shall 
return  to  New  York  to-day  as  Madame" — he  had  to  consult 
the  young  Frenchman's  card — "as  Madame  Achille  Simngrce 
de  Lantiponne." 

Both  boys  instantly  set  off  for  the  magistrate,  but  as  Sam 
ran  fastest,  Dick  gave  up  the  chase,  and  turned  to  the  house, 
where  he  startled  his  mother  by  exclaiming — "  Make  haste — 
make  haste  down  to  the  cabin — there's  to  be  marrying  there 
directly. 

"  Shocking  I"  cried  Mrs.  Clavering,  throwing  away  her 
sewing.  "  Is  Uncle  Philip  really  going  to  play  the  madman  ? 
Can  there  be  no  way  of  saving  him  ?" 

"He  is  saved,"  replied  Dick;  "he  has  just  been  saved  by 
a  French  barber,  Miss  Robertine' s  old  sweetheart;  and  so 
Uncle  Philip  is  going  to  have  them  married  out  of  the  way, 
as  soon  as  possible.  I  suppose  he  is  determined  that  Miss 
Robertine  shall  not  have  the  least  chance  of  making  another 
dead  set  at  him.  Sam  is  gone  for  Squire  Van  Tackemfast." 

"  But  the  cabin  is  no  place  for  a  wedding,"  said  Mrs. 
Clavering. 

"  Why,"  replied  Dick,  "  Uncle  Philip  seems  determined 
not  to  quit  the  cabin  till  all  danger  is  over.  Dear  mother, 
make  haste,  or  Miss  Robertine  may  yet  win  him  back  again." 

Mrs.  Clavering  hastily  changed  her  cap,  and  ordered  a  ser 
vant  to  follow  with  cake  and  wine ;  and  on  their  way  to  the 
cabin  Dick  gave  her  an  account  of  all  that  had  passed.  In  a 
few  minutes  Sam  arrived,  accompanied  by  Squire  Van  Tackem 
fast,  with  whom  Captain  Kentledge  exchanged  a  few  explana 
tory  words.  There  was  no  time  for  any  further  preparation. 
Uncle  Philip  instantly  put  the  hand  of  Robertine  into  that  of 
her  lover.  The  young  couple  stood  up  before  the  magistrate, 
who  merely  uttered  a  few  words,  but  which  were  sufficient  in 
law  to  unite  them  for  ever — "  In  the  name  of  the  common 
wealth,  I  pronounce  you  man  and  wife."  This  was  the  whole 
of  the  ceremony ;  the  magistrate  writing  a  certificate,  which 
was  duly  signed  by  all  present. 

"  Now,"  said  Uncle  Philip,  looking  at  his  watch  and  ad 
dressing  Lantiponne,  "  the  steamboat  will  soon  be  along,  and 
if  you  are  going  down  to  the  city  to-day,  you  will  have  little 
enough  time  to  make  your  preparations." 

The  bride  and  groom  curtsied  and  bowed  gracefully,  and 


130  UNCLE  miLir. 

departed  with  Madame  Franchimeau,  whose  last  words  were — 
"  What  a  surprise  for  Monsieur  Franchimeau,  and  also  fur 
papa  and  mamma  and  my  little  darlings  !" 

When  they  were  all  fairly  off,  Mrs.  Clavering  felt  as  if  re 
lieved  from  the  weight  of  a  mountain ;  and  she  could  not  quit 
the  cabin  till  she  had  had  a  long  discussion  with  Uncle  Philip 
on  the  recent  events. 

In  about  an  hour,  the  steamboat  passed  along,  going  close 
in  shore  to  get  all  the  advantage  of  the  tide ;  and  Robertine, 
who  stood  on  the  deck  leaning  on  her  husband's  arm,  smiled 
and  waved  her  handkerchief  to  Uncle  Philip. 

To  conclude — it  was  not  long  before  the  old  gentleman  pre 
vailed  on  Mrs.  Clavering  and  her  family  to  remove  with  him 
to  a  house  of  his  own  at  Salem,  a  plan  which  had  been  in 
agitation  for  the  last  year;  and  in  due  time  the  boys  com 
menced  their  apprenticeships,  Sam  to  the  captain  of  an  India- 
man,  and  Dick  to  a  shipbuilder.  Both  succeeded  well ;  and 
have  since  become  eminent  in  their  respective  professions. 

Uncle  Philip  looks  not  much  older  than  when  he  first  allowed 
himself  to  be  smitten  with  Miss  Robertine ;  but  he  has  never 
since  fallen  into  a  similar  snare.  He  has  made  his  will,  and 
divided  his  whole  property  between  Mrs.  Clavering  and  her 
children,  with  the  exception  of  some  legacies  to  old  sailors. 

The  Simagree  de  Lantiponnes  have  a  large  establishment 
in  Broadway. 

The  Franchimeaus  and  their  system  soon  got  out  of  favour 
at  Corinth,  and  they  have  ever  since  been  going  the  rounds 
of  new  villages. 


THE    ALBUM. 


"Tis  not  in  mortals  to  command  success." — ADDISON. 

"  UNGALLANT  ! — unmilitary  1"  exclaimed  the  beautiful 
Orinda  Melbourne,  to  her  yet  unprofessed  lover,  Lieutenant 
Sunderland,  as  in  the  decline  of  a  summer  afternoon  they  sat 
near  an  open  window  in  the  northwest  parlour  of  Mr.  Coz- 
szens's  house  at  "West  Point,  where  as  yet  there  was  no  hotel. 
"  And  do  you  steadily  persist  in  refusing  to  write  in  my  album  ? 
Really,  you  deserve  to  be  dismissed  the  service  for  unofncer- 
like  conduct." 

"  I  have  forsworn  albums,"  replied  Sunderland,  "  and  for 
at  least  a  dozen  reasons.  In  the  first  place,  the  gods  have  not 
made  me  poetical." 

"Ah!"  interrupted  Miss  Melbourne,  "you  remind  me  of 
the  well-known  story  of  the  mayor  of  a  French  provincial 
town,  who  informed  the  king  that  the  worthy  burgesses  had 
fifteen  reasons  for  not  doing  themselves  the  honour  of  firing  a 
salute  on  his  majesty's  arrival :  the  first  reason  being  that  they 
had  no  cannon." 

"A  case  in  point,"  remarked  Sunderland. 

"Well,"  resumed  Orinda,  "I  do  not  expect  you  to  surpass 
the  glories  of  Byron  and  Moore." 

"  Nothing  is  more  contemptible  than  mediocre  poetry," 
observed  Sunderland ;  "  the  magazines  and  souvenirs  have 
surfeited  the  world  with  it." 

" I  do  not  require  you  to  be  even  mediocre"  persisted  the 

young  lady.     "  Give  me  something  ludicrously  bad,  and  I 

shall  prize  it  almost  as  highly  as  if  it  were  seriously  good.     I 

need  not  remind  you  of  the  hackneyed  remarks,  that  extremes 

11*  (131) 


132  THE   ALBUM. 

meet,  and  that  there  is  but  one  step  from  the  sublime  to  the 
ridiculous.  Look  at  this  Ode  to  West  Point,  written  in  my 
album  by  a  very  obliging  cadet,  a  room-mate  of  my  brother's. 
It  is  a  perfect  gem.  How  I  admire  these  lines — 

'  The  steamboat  up  the  river  shoots, 
"While  AYillis  ou  his  bugle  toots.'  " 

"Wo  to  the  man,"  said  Sunderland,  "who  subjects  bis 
poetical  reputation  to  the  ordeal  of  a  lady's  album,  where  all, 
whether  gifted  or  ungifted,  are  expected  to  do  their  best." 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  replied  Orinda ;  "  that  expectation 
has  long  since  gone  by.  We  have  found,  by  experience,  that 
either  from  negligence  or  perverseness,  gentlemen  are  very  apt 
to  write  their  worst  in  our  albums." 

"  I  do  not  wonder  at  it,"  said  Sunderland.  "  However,  I 
must  retrieve  my  character  as  a  knight  of  chivalry.  Appoint 
me  any  other  task,  and  I  will  pledge  myself  to  perform  your 
bidding.  Let  your  request  '  take  any  shape  but  that,  and  my 
firm  nerves  shall  never  tremble/  }i 

"  But  why  this  inveterate  horror  of  albums  ?"  asked  Orinda. 
"  Have  you  had  any  experience  in  them  ?" 

"  I  have,  to  my  sorrow,"  replied  Sunderland.  "  With  me, 
I  am  convinced,  *  the  course  of  albums  never  wrill  run  smooth/ 
For  instance,  I  once,  by  means  of  an  album,  lost  the  lady  of 
my  love  (I  presume  not  to  say  the  love  of  my  lady.)" 

Orinda  looked  up  and  looked  down,  and  "  a  change  came 
o'er  the  spirit  of  her  face  :"  which  change  was  not  unnoticed 
by  her  yet  undeclared  admirer,  whose  acquaintance  with  Miss 
Melbourne  commenced  on  a  former  visit  she  had  made  to  West 
Point,  to  see  her  brother,  who  was  one  of  the  cadets  of  the 
Military  Academy. 

Orinda  Melbourne  was  now  in  her  twenty-first  year,  at  her 
own  disposal  (having  lost  both  her  parents),  and  mistress  of 
considerable  property,  a  great  part  of  which  had  been  left  to 
her  by  an  aunt.  She  resided  in  the  city  of  New  York,  with 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ledbury,  two  old  and  intimate  friends  of  her 
family,  and  they  had  accompanied  her  to  West  Point.  She 
•was  universally  considered  a  very  charming  girl,  and  by  none 
more  so  than  by  Lieutenant  Sunderlaud.  But  hearing  that 
Miss  Melbourne  had  declined  the  addresses  of  several  very 
unexceptionable  gentlemen,  our  hero  was  trying  to  delay  an 
explicit  avowal  of  his  sentiments,  till  he  should  discover  some 


THE   ALBUM.  133 

reason  to  hope  that  the  disclosure  would  be  favourably  re 
ceived. 

Like  most  other  men,  on  similar  occasions,  he  gave  a  favour 
able  interpretation  to  the  emotion  involuntarily  evinced  by  the 
young  lady,  on  hearing  him  allude  to  his  former  flame. 

There  was  a  pause  of  a  few  moments,  till  Orinda  rallied,  and 
said  with  affected  carelessness,  a  You  may  as  well  tell  me  the 
whole  story,  as  we  seem  to  have  nothing  better  to  talk  of." 

"  Well,  then,"  proceeded  Sunderland,  "during  one  of  my 
visits  to  the  city,  I  met  with  a  very  pretty  young  lady  from 
Brooklyn.  Her  name  is  of  course  unmentionable  j  but  I  soon 
found  myself,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  a  little  in  love — 

"I  suspect  it  was  not  merely  a  little/'  remarked  Orinda, 
with  a  penetrating  glance ;  "  it  is  said,  that  in  love  the  first  fit 
is  always  the  strongest." 

"No,  no!"  exclaimed  Sunderland;  "I  deny  the  truth  of 
that  opinion.  It  is  a  popular  fallacy — I  know  it  is/'  fixing 
his  eyes  on  Orinda. 

At  that  minute,  the  young  officer  would  have  given  a  year's 
pay  to  be  certain  whether  the  glow  that  heightened  Miss  Mel 
bourne's  complexion,  was  a  Lond  fide  blush,  or  only  the  reflec 
tion  of  the  declining  sunbeams,  as  they  streamed  from  under 
a  dark  cloud  that  was  hovering  over  the  western  hills.  How 
ever,  after  a  few  moments'  consideration,  he  again  interpreted 
favourably. 

"  Proceed,  Mr.  Sunderland,"  said  Orinda  in  rather  a  tre 
mulous  voice ;  "  tell  me  all  the  particulars." 

"  Of  the  album  I  will,"  replied  he.  "  Well,  then— this 
young  lady  was  one  of  the  belles  of  Brooklyn,  and  certainly 
very  handsome." 

"  Of  what  colour  were  her  eyes  and  hair  ?"  inquired 
Orinda. 

"  Light — both  very  light." 

Orinda,  who  was  a  brunette,  caught  herself  on  the  point  of 
saying,  that  she  had  rarely  seen  much  expression  in  the  coun 
tenance  of  a  blonde ;  but  she  checked  the  remark,  and  bunder- 
land  proceeded. 

"  The  lady  in  question  had  a  splendidly  bound  album, 
which  she  produced  and  talked  about  on  all  occasions,  and 
seemed  to  regard  with  so  much  pride  and  admiration,  that  if 
a  lover  could  possibly  have  been  jealous  of  a  book,  I  was,  at 
times,  very  near  becoming  so.  It  was  half  filled  with  amatory 
verses  by  juvenile  rhymesters,  and  with  tasteless  insipid  draw- 


134  THE  ALBUM. 

ings  in  water  colours,  by  boarding-school  misses :  which  draw 
ings  my  Dulcinea  persisted  in  calling  paintings.  She  also 
persisted  in  urging  me  to  write  <a  piece  of  poetry'  in  her 
album,  and  I  persevered  in  declaring  my  utter  inability :  as 
my  few  attempts  at  versification  had  hitherto  proved  entire 
failures.  At  last,  I  reluctantly  consented,  recollecting  to  have 
heard  of  sudden  fits  of  inspiration,  and  of  miraculous  gifts  of 
poetical  genius,  with  which  even  milkmaids  and  cobblers  have 
been  unexpectedly  visited.  So  taking  the  album  with  me,  I 
retired  to  the  solitude  of  my  apartment  at  the  City  Hall,  con 
cluding  with  Macbeth  that  when  a  thing  is  to  be  well  done, 
'tis  well  to  do  it  quickly.  Here  I  manfully  made  my  prepa 
rations  '  to  saddle  Pegasus  and  ride  up  Parnassus' — but  in 
vain.  With  me  the  winged  steed  of  Apollo  was  as  obstinate 
as  a  Spanish  mule  on  the  Sierra  Morena.  Not  an  inch  would 
he  stir.  There  was  not  even  the  slightest  flutter  in  his  pinions ; 
and  the  mountain  of  the  Muses  looked  to  me  as  inaccessible 
as — as  what  shall  I  say — " 

"  I  will  help  you  to  a  simile/'  replied  Orinda;  "as  inaccessi 
ble  as  the  sublime  and  stupendous  precipice  to  which  you  West 
Pointers  have  given  the  elegant  and  appropriate  title  of  Butter 

"Exactly,"  responded  Sunderland.  "Parnassus  looked 
like  Butter  Hill.  Well,  then — to  be  brief  (as  every  man  says 
when  he  suspects  himself  to  be  tedious),  I  sat  up  till  one 
o'clock,  vainly  endeavouring  to  manufacture  something  that 
might  stand  for  poetry.  But  I  had  no  rhymes  for  my  ideas, 
and  no  ideas  for  my  rhymes.  I  found  it  impossible  to  make 
both  go  together.  I  at  last  determined  to  write  my  verses  in 
prose  tilM  had  arranged  the  sense,  and  afterwards  to  put  them 
into  measure  and  rhyme.  I  tried  every  sort  of  measure  from 
six  feet  to  ten,  and  I  essayed  consecutive  rhymes  and  alternate 
rhymes,  but  all  was  in  vain.  I  found  that  I  must  either 
sacrifice  the  sense  to  the  sound,  or  the  sound  to  the  sense. 
At  length,  I  thought  of  the  Bouts  Blmees  of  the  French. 
So  I  wfote  down,  near  the  right  hand  edge  of  my  paper,  a 
whole  column  of  familiar  rhymes,  such  as  mine,  thine,  tears, 
fears,  light,  bright,  <fec.  And  now  I  congratulated  myself  on 
having  accomplished  one-half  of  my  task,  supposing  that  I 
should  find  it  comparatively  easy  to  do  the  filling  up.  But  all 
was  to  no  purpose.  I  could  effect  nothing  that  I  thought  even 
tolerable,  and  I  was  too  proud  to  write  badly  and  be  laughed 
at.  However,  I  must  acknowledge  that,  could  I  have  been 


THE   ALBUM.  135 

certain  that  my  ' piece  of  poetry'  would  be  seen  only  by  the 
fair  damsel  herself,  I  might  easily  have  screwed  my  courage  to 
the  sticking  place ;  for  greatly  as  I  was  smitten  with  the 
beauty  of  my  little  nymph,  I  had  a  secret  misgiving  that  she 
had  never  sacrificed  to  Minerva." 

Our  hero  paused  a  moment  to  admire  the  radiance  of  the 
smile  that  now  lighted  up  the  countenance  of  Orinda. 

"In  short,"  continued  he,  "I  sat  up  till  '  night's  candles 
were  burnt  out,'  both  literally  and  metaphorically,  and  I  then 
retired  in  despair  to  my  pillow,  from  whence  I  did  not  rise  till 
ten  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

"  That  evening  I  carried  back  the  album  to  my  fair  one ; 
but  she  still  refused  to  let  me  off,  and  insisted  that  I  should 
take  it  with  me  to  West  Point,  to  which  place  I  was  to  return 
next  day.  I  did  so,  hoping  to  catch  some  inspiration  from 
the  mountain  air,  and  the  mountain  scenery.  I  ought  to  have 
recollected  that  few  of  the  poets  on  record,  either  lived  among 
mountains,  or  wrote  while  visiting  them.  The  sons  of  song 
are  too  often  fated  to  set  up  their  household  gods,  and  strike 
their  lyres,  in  dark  narrow  streets  and  dismal  alleys. 

"  As  soon  as  the  steamboat  had  cleared  the  city,  I  took  out 
my  pocket-book  and  pencil,  and  prepared  for  the  onset.  I 
now  regarded  the  ever-beautiful  scenery  of  the  magnificent 
Hudson  with  a  new  interest.  I  thought  the  Palisades  would 
do  something  for  me ;  but  my  imagination  remained  as  sterile 
and  as  impenetrable  as  their  eternal  rocks.  The  broad  expanse 
of  the  Tappan  Sea  lay  like  a  resplendent  mirror  around  me, 
but  it  reflected  no  image  that  I  could  transfer  to  my  tablets. 
We  came  into  the  Highlands,  but  the  old  Dundebcrg  rumbled 
nothing  in  my  fancy's  ears,  Anthony's  Nose  looked  coldly 
down  upon  me,  and  the  Sugar  Loaf  suggested  no  idea  of 
sweetness.  We  proceeded  along,  but  Buttermilk  Falls  re 
minded  me  not  of  the  fountain  of  Helicon,  and  Bull  Hill  and 
Breakneck  Hill  seemed  too  rugged  ever  to  be  smoothed  into 
verse. 

"  That  afternoon  I  went  up  to  Fort  Putnam,  for  the  hundred 
and  twentieth  time  in  my  life.  I  walked  round  the  dismantled 
ramparts;  I  looked  into  their  damp  and  gloomy  cells.  I 
thought  (as  is  the  duty  of  every  one  that  visits  these  martial 
ruins)  on  the  '  pride,  pomp,  and  circumstance  of  glorious  war/ 
But  they  inspired  nothing  that  I  could  turn  to  account  in  my 
lady's  album ;  nothing  that  could  serve  to  introduce  the  com 
pliment  always  expected  in  the  last  stanza.  And,  in  truth, 


130  THE    ALBUM. 

this  compliment  was  the  chief  stumbling-block  after  all.  'But 
for  these  vile  compliments,  I  might  myself  have  been  an 
album-poet/  " 

u  Is  it  then  so  difficult  to  compliment  a  lady  ?"  inquired 
Orincla. 

"  Not  in  plain  prose/''  replied  Sunderland.  "  and  when  the 
lady  is  a  little  d  l'imbeciley  nothing  in  the  world  is  more  easy. 
But  even  in  prose,  to  compliment  a  sensible  woman  as  she  de 
serves,  and  without  danger  of  offending  her  modesty,  requires 
both  tact  and  talent." 

"  Which  I  suppose  is  the  reason/'  said  Orinda,  "  that  sen 
sible  women  obtain  so  few  compliments  from  your  sex,  and 
fools  so  many." 

"True,"  replied  Sunderland.  "But  such  compliments  as 
we  wish  to  offer  to  elegant  and  intellectual  females,  are  as 
orient  pearls  compared  to  French  beads." 

Orinda  cast  down  her  beautiful  eyes  under  the  expressive 
glance  of  her  admirer.  She  felt  that  she  was  now  receiving  a 
pearl. 

" But  to  proceed,"  continued  Sunderland.  "I  came  down 
from  the  fort  no  better  poet  than  I  went  up,  and  I  had  recourse 
again  to  the  solitude  of  my  own  room.  Grown  desperate,  and 
determined  to  get  the  album  off  my  mind  and  have  it  over, 
an  idea  struck  me  which  I  almost  blush  to  mention.  Promise 
not  to  look  at  me,  and  I  will  amaze  you  with  my  candour." 

Orinda  pretended  to  hold  her  fan  before  her  eyes. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  are  not  peeping  between  the  stems  of 
the  feathers  ?"  said  Sunderland.  "  Well,  then,  now  for  my 
confession  \  but  listen  to  it  ( more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger,' 
and  remember  that  the  album  alone  was  the  cause  of  my  des 
peration  and  my  dishonour.  Some  Mephistophelcs  whispered 
in  my  ear  to  look  among  the  older  poets  for  something  but 
little  known,  and  transfer  it  as  mine  to  a  page  in  the  fatal 
book.  I  would  not,  of  course,  venture  on  Scott  or  Moore  or 
Byron ;  for  though  I  doubted  whether  my  lady-love  was  better 
versed  in  them  than  in  the  bards  of  Queen  Anne's  reign,  yet 
I  thought  that  perhaps  some  of  the  readers  of  her  album 
might  be  acquainted  with  the  last  and  best  of  the  minstrels. 
But  on  looking  over  a  volume  of  Pope,  I  found  his  '  Song  by 
a  Person  of  Quality/  " 

"I  recollect  it,"  said  Orinda;  "it  is  a  satire  on  the  ama 
teur  love-verses  of  that  period, — such  as  were  generally  pro 
duced  by  fashionable  inamoratoes.  In  these  stanzas  the 


THE   ALBUM.  137 

author  has  purposely  avoided  every  approach  to  sense  or 
connexion,  but  has  assembled  together  a  medley  of  smooth 
and  euphonous  sounds.  And  could  you  risk  such  verses  with 
your  Dulcinea  ?" 

"  Yes/'  replied  Sunderland ;  "  with  her  I  knew  that  I  was 
perfectly  safe,  and  that  she  would  pronounce  them  sweet  and 
delightful.  And  in  short,  that  they  would  exactly  suit  the 
calibre  of  her  understanding." 

"Yet  still,"  said  Orinda,  uwith  such  an  opinion  of  her 
mental  qualifications,  you  professed  to  love  this  young  lady — • 
or  rather  you  really  loved  her — no  doubt  you  did." 

"No,  no,"  replied  Sunderland,  eagerly;  "it  was  only  a 
passing  whim — only  a  boyish  fancy — such  as  a  man  may  feel 
a  dozen  times  before  he  is  five-and-twenty,  and  before  he  is 
seriously  in  love.  I  should  have  told  you  that  at  this  period 
I  had  not  yet  arrived  at  years  of  discretion." 

"I  should  have  guessed  it  without  your  telling,"  said 
Orinda,  mischievously. 

The  young  officer  smiled,  and  proceeded. 

"  I  now  saw  my  way  clear.  So  I  made  a  new  pen,  placed 
Pope  on  my  desk,  and  sitting  down  to  the  album  with  a  light 
ened  spirit,  I  began  with  the  first  stanza  of  his  poem : 

'  Fluttering  spread  thy  purple  pinions, 

Gentle  Cupid,  o'er  my  heart — 
I  a  slave  in  thy  dominions, 
Nature  must  give  way  to  art.' 

And  I  then  added  the  second  and  sixth  verses,  substituting 
the  name  of  my  fair  one  for  that  of  Aurelia." 

"  What  would  I  not  give  to  know  that  name !"  thought 
Orinda.  "  But,  in  those  verses,"  she  remarked  to  Sunderland, 
"  if  I  recollect  aright,  there  is  no  direct  compliment  to  the 
lady's  beauty." 

"  But  there  is  a  very  great  one  by  implication,"  answered 
the  lieutenant.  "  For  instance,  the  line — '  Hear  me  pay  my 
dying  vows/ — What  more  could  I  profess  than  to  die  for  love 
of  her  !  And  a  lady  that  is  died  for,  must  of  course  be  super 
latively  charming.  In  short,  I  finished  the  verses,  and  I  must 
say  they  were  very  handsomely  transcribed.  Now,  do  not 
laugh.  Is  it  not  more  excusable  to  take  some  pride  in  writing 
a  good  hand,  than  to  boast  of  scribbling  a  bad  one  ?  I  have 
known  persons  who  seemed  absolutely  to  plume  themselves  on 
the  illegibility  of  their  scrawls;  because,  unfortunately,  so 


138  THE   ALBUM. 

many  men  of  genius  have  indulged  in  a  most  shameful  style 
of  chirography. 

"Well,  I  viewed  my  performance  with  much  satisfaction, 
and  then  proceeded  to  look  attentively  through  the  album  (I 
had  as  yet  but  glanced  over  it),  to  see  if  any  one  excelled  me 
in  calligraphy.  What  was  my  horror,  when  I  found  among  a 
multitude  of  Lines  to  Zephyrs  and  Dew-drops,  and  Stanzas  to 
Rose-buds  and  Violets,  the  identical  verses  that  I  had  just  copied 
from  Pope  !  Some  other  poor  fellow,  equally  hard  pressed, 
had  been  beforehand  with  me,  and  committed  the  very  same 
theft;  which,  in  his  case,  appeared  to  me  enormous.  I  pro 
nounced  it  { flat  burglary/  and  could  have  consigned  him  to 
the  penitentiary  ( for  the  whole  term  of  his  natural  life.'  To 
be  compelled  to  commit  a  robbery  is  bad  enough,  but  to  be 
anticipated  in  the  very  same  robbery,  and  to  find  that  you 
have  burdened  your  conscience,  and  jeoparded  your  self- 
respect  for  nothing,  is  worse  still/' 

"  There  was  one  way,"  observed  Orinda,  "  in  which  you 
could  have  extricated  yourself  from  the  dilemma.  You  might 
have  cut  out  the  leaf,  and  written  something  else  on  another." 

"  That  was  the  very  thing  I  finally  determined  on  doing/' 
replied  Sunderland.  "  So  after  a  pause  of  deep  distress,  I 
took  my  penknife,  and  did  cut  out  the  leaf:  resolving  that  for 
my  next  '  writing-piece/  I  would  go  as  far  back  as  the  poets 
of  Elizabeth's  time.  While  pleasing  myself  with  the  idea 
that  all  was  now  safe,  I  perceived,  in  moving  the  book,  that 
another  leaf  was  working  its  way  out ;  and  I  found,  to  my 
great  consternation,  that  I  had  cut  too  deeply,  and  that  I  had 
loosened  a  page  on  which  was  faintly  drawn  in  a  lady's  hand 
a  faint  Cupid  shooting  at  a  faint  heart,  encircled  with  a  wreath 
of  faint  flowers.  I  recollected  that  my  *  fair  one  with  locks 
of  gold/  had  pointed  out  to  me  this  performance  as  l  the 
sweetest  thing  in  her  album/  " 

" By-the-bye/'  remarked  Orinda,  "when  you  found  so  much 
difficulty  in  composing  verses,  why  did  you  not  substitute  a 
drawing  ?" 

"  Oh  !"  replied  the  lieutenant,  "  though  I  am  at  no  loss  in 
military  drawing,  and  can  finish  my  bastions,  and  counter 
scarps,  and  ravelins,  with  all  due  neatness,  yet  my  miscella 
neous  sketches  are  very  much  in  the  style  of  scene-painting, 
and  totally  unfit  to  be  classed  with  the  smooth,  delicate,  half- 
tinted  prettincsses  that  are  peculiar  to  ladies'  albums/' 

"  Now/'  said  Orinda,  "  I  am  going  to  see  how  you  will 


THE   ALBUM.  139 

bear  a  compliment.  I  know  that  your  drawings  are  bold  and 
spirited,  and  such  as  the  artists  consider  very  excellent  for  an 
amateur,  arid  therefore  I  will  excuse  you  from  writing  verses 
in  my  album,  on  condition  that  you  make  me  a  sketch,  in 
your  own  way,  of  my  favourite  view  of  Fort  Putnam — I  mean 
that  fine  scene  of  the  west  side  which  bursts  suddenly  upon 
you  when  going  thither  by  the  back  road  that  leads  through 
the  woods.  How  sublime  is  the  effect,  when  you  stand  at  the 
foot  of  the  dark  gray  precipice,  feathered  as  it  is  with  masses 
of  beautiful  foliage,  and  when  you  look  up  to  its  lofty  sum 
mit,  where  the  living  rock  seems  to  blend  itself  with  the  dila 
pidated  ramparts  of  the  mountain  fortress  V 

"  To  attempt  such  a  sketch  for  Miss  Melbourne,"  replied 
Sunderland,  with  much  animation,  "  I  shall  consider  both  a 
pleasure  and  an  honour.  But  Loves  and  Doves,  and  Hoses  and 
Posies,  are  entirely  out  of  my  line,  or  rather  out  of  the  line 
of  my  pencil.  Now,  where  was  I  ?  I  believe  I  was  telling  of 
my  confusion  when  I  found  that  I  had  inadvertently  cut  out 
the  young  lady's  pet  Cupid." 

"  But  did  it  not  strike  you,"  said  Orinda,  "  that  the  easiest 
course,  after  all,  was  to  go  to  your  demoiselle,  and  make  a  can 
did  confession  of  the  whole  ?  which  she  would  undoubtedly  have 
regarded  in  no  other  light  than  as  a  subject  of  amusement,  and 
have  been  too  much  diverted  to  feel  any  displeasure." 

"  Ah !  you  must  not  judge  of  every  one  by  yourself," 
replied  Sunderland.  "  I  thought  for  a  moment  of  doing  what 
you  now  suggest,  but  after  a  little  consideration,  I  more  than 
suspected  that  my  candour  would  be  thrown  away  upon  the 
perverse  little  damsel  that  owned  the  album,  and  that  any 
attempt  to  take  a  ludicrous  view  of  the  business  would  mor 
tally  offend  her.  All  young  ladies  are  not  like  Miss  Orinda 
Melbourne" — (bowing  as  he  spoke). 

Orinda  turned  her  head  towards  the  window,  and  fixed  her 
eyes  intently  on  the  top  of  the  Crow's  Nest.  This  time  the 
suffusion  on  her  cheeks  was  not  in  the  least  doubtful. 

"  Well,  then,"  continued  Sunderland,  "  that  I  might  remedy 
the  disaster  as  far  as  possible,  I  procured  some  fine  paste,  and 
was  proceeding  to  cement  the  leaf  to  its  predecessor,  when,  in 
my  agitation,  a  drop  of  the  paste  fell  on  the  Cupid's  face.  In 
trying  to  absorb  it  with  the  corner  of  a  clean  handkerchief,  I 
1  spread  the  ruin  widely  round/  and  smeared  off  his  wings, 
which  unfortunately  grew  out  of  the  back  of  his  neck  :  a  very 
pardonable  inistake;  as  the  fair  artist  had  probably  never  seen 


140  THE   ALBUM. 

a  live  Cupid.  I  was  now  nearly  frantic,  and  I  enacted  sundry 
ravings  l  too  tedious  to  mention/  The  first  use  I  made  of  my 
returning  senses  was  to  employ  a  distinguished  artist  (then  on 
a  visit  to  West  Point)  to  execute  on  another  leaf,  another 
Cupid,  with  bow  and  arrow,  heart  and  roses,  &c.  He  made  a 
beautiful  little  thing,  a  design  of  his  own,  which  alone  was 
worth  a  thousand  album  drawings  of  the  usual  sort.  I  was 
now  quite  reconciled  to  the  disaster,  which  had  given  me  an 
opportunity  of  presenting  the  young  lady  with  a  precious 
specimen  of  taste  and  genius.  As  soon  as  it  was  finished, 
I  obtained  leave  of  absence  for  a  few  days,  went  down  to  the 
city,  and,  album  in  hand,  repaired  to  my  Brooklyn  beauty. 
I  knew  that,  with  her,  there  would  be  no  use  in  telling 
the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth  ]  and  I  acknow 
ledge,  with  shame,  that  I  suppressed  the  fact  of  my  copying 
Pope's  verses.  I  merely  said  that,  not  being  quite  satisfied 
with  my  poetry,  I  had  cut  out  the  leaf;  and  I  then  went  on. 
to  relate  the  remainder  exactly  as  it  happened.  As  I  pro 
ceeded,  I  observed  her  brows  beginning  to  contract,  and  her 
lips  beginning  to  pout.  l  Well,  sir/  said  s1  e,  with  her  eyes 
flashing  (for  I  now  found  that  even  blue  eyes  could  flash),  'I 
think  you  have  been  taking  great  liberties  with  my  album : 
cutting  and  clipping  it,  and  smearing  it  with  paste,  and  spoil 
ing  my  best  Cupid,  and  then  getting  a  man  to  put  another 
picture  into  it,  without  asking  my  leave/ 

a  Much  disconcerted,  I  made  many  apologies,  all  of  which 
she  received  with  a  very  ill  grace.  I  ventured  to  point  out  to 
her  the  superiority  of  the  drawing  that  had  been  made  by  the 
artist. 

"  '  I  see  no  beauty  in  it/  she  exclaimed ;  '  the  shading  is 
not  half  so  much  blended  as  Miss  Cottonwool's,  and  it  does 
not  look  half  so  soft/  " 

"  I  have  observed,"  said  Orinda,  "  that  persons  who  in 
reality  know  but  little  of  the  art,  always  dwell  greatly  on 
what  they  call  softness." 

"  I  endeavoured  to  reconcile  her  to  the  drawing,"  continued 
Sundcrland ;  "  but  she  persisted  in  saying  that  it  was  nothing 
to  compare  to  Miss  Cottonwool's,  which  she  alleged  was  of  one 
delicate  tint  throughout,  while  this  was  very  light  in  some 
places  and  very  dark  in  others,  and  that  she  could  actually  see 
distinctly  where  most  of  the  touches  were  put  on,  '  when  in 
pointings  that  are  really  handsome/  said  she,  *  all  the  shading 
is  blended  together,  and  looks  soft/ 


THE   ALBUM.  141 

"  To  conclude,  she  would  not  forgive  me ;  and,  in  sober 
truth,  I  must  acknowledge  that  the  petulance  and  silliness 
she  evinced  on  this  occasion,  took  away  much  of  my  desire  to 
be  restored  to  favour.  Next  day,  I  met  her  walking  on  the 
Battery,  in  high  flirtation  with  an  old  West  Indian  planter, 
who  espoused  her  in  the  course  of  a  fortnight,  and  carried  her 
to  Antigua." 

Orinda  now  gave  an  involuntary  and  almost  audible  sigh  ; 
feeling  a  sensation  of  relief  on  hearing  that  her  rival  by  an 
ticipation  was  married  and  gone,  and  entirely  Ivors  de  combat. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ledbury,  who  had  been  taking  a  long  walk, 
now  came  in  \  and  shortly  after,  the  bell  rang  for  tea.  And 
when  Orinda  took  the  offered  arm  of  Sundcrland  (as  he  con 
ducted  her  to  the  table),  she  felt  a  presentiment  that,  before 
many  days,  the  important  question  would  be  asked  and 
answered. 

The  evening  on  which  our  story  commences,  was  that  of  the 
3d  of  July,  1825,  and  tea  was  scarcely  over  at  the  Mess  House 
when  an  orderly  sergeant  came  round  with  a  notice  for  the 
officers  to  assemble  in  uniform  at  the  dock,  to  receive  General 
La  Fayette,  who  was  expected  in  half  an  hour. 

The  guest  of  the  nation  had  visited  the  Military  Academy 
soon  after  his  arrival  in  America.  He  had  there  been  intro 
duced  to  Cadet  Huger,  the  son  of  that  gallant  Carolinian  who, 
in  conjunction  with  the  generous  and  enterprising  Bollman, 
had  so  nearly  succeeded  in  the  hazardous  attempt  of  delivering 
him  from  the  dungeons  of  Olmutz. 

La  Fayette  was  now  on  his  return  from  his  memorable  tour 
throughout  the  United  States.  Major  Worth,*  who  was  in 
command  at  West  Point  during  the  temporary  absence  of 
Colonel  Thayer,  happened  to  be  at  Newburgh  when  the  steam 
boat  arrived  there,  in  which  La  Fayette  was  proceeding  down 
the  river  from  Albany  to  New  York;  and  he  invited  the 
General  to  stop  at  West  Point,  and  remain  till  the  next  boat. 
The  invitation  was  promptly  accepted,  and  Major  Worth  in 
stantly  despatched  a  messenger  with  the  intelligence ;  wishing 
to  give  the  residents  of  the  post  an  opportunity  of  making 
such  preparations  for  the  reception  of  their  distinguished 
visitor  as  the  shortness  of  the  time  would  allow. 

The  officers  hastily  put  on  their  full  dress  uniform,  and  re 
paired  to  the  wharf,  or  dock,  as  it  was  called.  The  band  (at 
that  time  the  finest  in  America)  was  already  there.  The 

*  Afterwards  General  Worth. 


142  THE   ALBUM. 

ladies  assembled  on  the  liigli  bank  that,  overlooks  ilic  rivi-r, 
and  from  thence  witnessed  the  arrival  of  La  .Fuyrtfe. 

On  the  heights  above  the  landing-place,  and  near  the  spot 
where  the  hotel  has  been  since  erected,  appeared  an  nrtieer, 
and  a  detachment  of  soldiers,  waiting,  with  a  limited  mat«-!i, 
to  commence  the  salute;  for  which  purpose  several  pieces,  of 
artillery  had  been  conveyed  thither. 

The  twilight  of  a  summer  evening  was  accelerated  by  a  vast 
and  heavy  cloud,  portentous  of  a  thunderstorm.  It  had  over 
spread  the  west,  and  loured  upon  the  river,  on  whoso  yet 
unruffled  waters  the  giant  shadows  of  the  mountains  wen; 
casting  a  still  deeper  gloom.  IS'.vyond  Polipel's  Island  was 
seen  the  coming  steamboat,  loolc ing  like  an  immense  star  upnn 
a  level  with  the  horizon.  There  was  a  solemn  silence;  all 
around,  which  was  soon  broken  by  the  sound  of  the  paddles, 
that  were  heard  when  the  boat  was  as  i'ar  oil' as  Washington's 
Valley:  and,  in  a  few  minutes,  her  dense  shower  of  sparks 
and  her  wreath  of  red  smoke  were  vividly  detined  upon  the 
darkening  sky. 

The  boat  was  soon  at  the  wharf;  and,  at  the  moment  that 
La  Fayette  stepped  on  shore,  the  officers  took  off  their  lints, 
the  band  struck  up  Hail  Columbia,  and,  amid  the  twilight 
gloom  and  the  darkness  of  the  impending  thundercloud,  it 
was  chiefly  by  the  flashes  of  the  guns  from  the  heights  that 
the  scene  was  distinctly  visible.  The  lightning  of  heaven 
quivered  also  on  the  water;  and  the  mountain  echoes  repeated 
the  low  rolling  of  the  distant  thunder  in  unison  with  the  loud 
roar  of  the  cannon. 

The  general,  accompanied  by  his  son,  and  by  his  secretary, 
Lcvasseur,  walked  slowly  up  the  hill,  leaning  on  the  arm  of 
Major  Worth,  preceded  by  the  band  playing  La  Fayette's 
March,  and  followed  by  the  officers  and  professors  <>{'  the  In 
stitution.  When  they  had  ascended  to  the  plain,  they  found 
the  houses  lighted  up,  and  the  camp  of  the  cadets  illuminated 
also.  They  proceeded  to  the  Mess  House,  and  as  soon  as  they 
had  entered,  the  musicians  ranged  themselves  under  the  elms 
in  front,  and  commenced  Yankee  Doodle;  the  quickstep  to 
which  La  Fayette,  at  the  head  of  his  American  division,  had 
marched  to  the  attack  at  the  siege  of  Yorktown. 

While  the  (leneral  was  partaking  of  some  refreshment,  tho 
officers  and  professors  returned  for  the  ladies,  all  of  whom 
were  desirous  of  an  introduction  to  him.  Many  children  \\eiv 
also  brought  and  presented  to  the  far-fauied  European,  who 


THE  ALBUM.  143 

had  so  importantly  assisted  in  obtaining  for  them  and  for  their 
fathers,  the  glorious  immunities  of  independence, 

The  star  has  now  set  which  shone  so  auspiciously  for  our 
country  at  that  disastrous  period  of  our  revolutionary  struggle — 

"When  hope  was  sinking  in  dismay, 
And  gloom  obscured  Columbia's  day." 

Mouldering  into  dust  is  that  honoured  hand  which  wan 
clasped  with  such  deep  emotion  by  the  assembled  sons  and 
daughters  of  the  nation  in  whose  cause  it  had  first  unsheathed 
the  sword  of  liberty.  And  soon  will  that  noble  and  generous 
heart,  so  replete  with  truth  and  benevolence,  be  reduced  to 
"a  clod  of  the  valley."  Yet,  may  we  not  hope  that  from  the 
world  of  eternity,  of  which  his  immortal  spirit  is  now  an  in 
habitant,  he  looks  down  with  equal  interest  on  the  land  of  his 
nativity,  and  on  the  land  of  his  adoption  :  that  country  so 
bound  to  him  by  ties  of  everlasting  gratitude;  that  country 
where  all  were  his  friends,  as  he  was  the  friend  of  all. 

Tears  suffused  the  beautiful  eyes  of  Orinda  Melbourne,  when, 
introduced  by  her  lover,  she  took  the  offered  hand  of  La 
Fayette,  and  her  voice  trembled  as  she  replied  to  the  compli 
ment  of  the  patriot  of  both  hemispheres.  Sundcrland  remarked 
to  the  son  of  the  illustrious  veteran,  that  it  gave  him  much 
pleasure  to  see  that  the  General's  long  and  fatiguing  journey 
had  by  no  means  impaired  his  healthful  appearance,  but  that, 
on  the  contrary,  he  now  looked  better  than  he  had  done  on 
his  first  arrival  in  America.  "Ah!"  replied  Colonel  La 
Fayette,  "  how  could  my  father  suffer  from  fatigue,  when 
every  day  was  a  day  of  happiness !" 

After  Orinda,  had  resigned  her  place  to  another  lady,  she 
said  to  Sundcrland,  who  stood  at  the  back  of  her  chair — 
"What  would  I  not  give  for  La  Faycttc's  autograph  in  my 
album  !" 

"Still  harping  on  the  album,"  said  Sunderland,  smiling. 

"Excuse  me  this  once,"  replied  Orinda.  "I  begin  to  think 
as  you  do  with  respect  to  albums,  but  if  nothing  else  can  be 
alleged  in  their  favour,  they  may,  at  least,  be  safe  and  con 
venient  depositories  for  mementoes  of  those  whose  names  are 
their  history.  All  I  presume  to  wish  or  to  hope  from  La 
Fayette,  is  simply  his  signature.  But  I  have  not  courage 
myself  to  ask  such  a  favour.  Will  you  convey  my  request 
to'  him  r 

"Willingly,"  answered  Sundcrland.     "But  he  will  grant 


144  THE  ALBUM. 

that  request  still  more  readily  if  it  comes  from  your  own  lips. 
Let  us  wait  awhile,  and  I  will  see  that  you  have  an  oppor 
tunity." 

In  a  short  time,  nearly  all  the  company  had  departed, 
except  those  that  were  inmates  of  the  house.  The  gentlemen 
having  taken  home  the  ladies,  returned  for  the  purpose  of 
remaining  with  La  Fayette  till  the  boat  came  along  in  which 
he  was  to  proceed  to  the  city. 

Orinda  took  her  album ;  her  admirer  conducted  her  to  the 
General,  and  with  much  confusion  she  proffered  her  request ; 
Sunderland  brought  him  a  standish,  and  he  wrote  the  name 
"La  Fayette"  in  the  centre  of  a  blank  page,  which  our  heroine 
presented  to  him :  it  having  on  each  side  other  blank  leaves 
that  Orinda  determined  should  never  be  filled  up.  Highly 
gratified  at  becoming  the  possessor  of  so  valued  a  signature, 
she  could  scarcely  refrain,  in  her  enthusiasm,  from  pressing 
the  leaf  to  her  lips,  when  she  soon  after  retired  with  Mrs. 
Ledbury. 

The  officers  remained  with  General  La  Fayette  till  the 
arrival  of  the  boat,  which  came  not  till  near  twelve  o'clock. 
They  then  accompanied  him  to  the  wharf,  and  took  their  final 
leave.  The  thunderstorm  had  gone  round  without  discharging 
its  fury  on  West  Point,  and  everything  had  turned  out  propi 
tiously  for  the  General's  visit ;  which  was  perhaps  the  more 
pleasant  for  having  been  so  little  expected. 

The  following  day  was  the  Fourth  of  July,  and  the  next 
was  the  one  fixed  on  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ledbury  for  returning 
to  New  York.  That  morning,  at  the  breakfast-table,  the 
number  of  guests  was  increased  by  the  presence  of  a  Mr. 
Jenkins,  who  had  come  from  the  city  in  the  same  boat  with 
Miss  Melbourne  and  her  friends,  and  after  passing  a  few  days 
at  "West  Point,  had  gone  up  the  river  to  visit  some  relations 
at  Poughkecpsie,  from  whence  he  had  just  returned.  Mr. 
Jenkins  was  a  shallow,  conceited,  over-dressed  young  man,  and, " 
morcver,  extremely  ugly,  though  of  this  misfortune  he  was 
not  in  the  least  aware.  He  was  of  a  family  whose  wealth 
had  not  made  them  genteel.  He  professed  great  politeness  to 
the  ladies,  that  is,  if  they  had  beauty  and  money ;  yet  he 
always  declared  that  he  would  marry  nothing  under  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars.  But  he  was  good-natured ;  and  that,  and 
his  utter  insignificance,  got  him  along  tolerably  well,  for  no 
one  ever  thought  it  worth  while  to  be  offended  at  his  folly 
and  self-sufficiency. 


THE  ALBUM.  145 

After  breakfast,  Mrs.  Ledbury  asked  Orinda  if  she  had 
prevailed  on  Mr.  Sunderland  to  write  an  article  in  her  album, 
adding — •"  I  heard  you  urging  him  to  that  effect  the  other 
day,  as  I  passed  the  front  parlour." 

"  I  found  him  inexorable,  as  to  writing,"  replied  Orinda. 

"  Well,  really,"  said  Mr.  Jenkins,  "I  don't  know  how  a 
gentleman  can  reconcile  himself  to  refuse  anything  a  lady  asks. 
And  he  an  officer  too !  For  my  part,  I  always  hold  it  my 
bounden  duty  to  oblige  the  ladies,  and  never  on  any  account 
to  treat  them  with  hauteur,  as  the  French  call  it.  To  be  sure, 
I  am  not  a  marrying  man — that  is,  I  do  not  marry  under  a 
hundred  thousand — but  still,  that  is  no  reason  why  I  should 
not  be  always  polite  and  agreeable.  Apropos,  as  the  French 
say — apropos,  Miss  Melbourne,  you  know  /  offered  the  other 
day  to  write  something  for  you  in  your  album,  and  I  will  do  it 
with  all  the  pleasure  in  life.  I  am  very  partial  to  albums,  and 
quite  au-fait  to  them,  to  use  a  French  term." 

"  We  return  to  the  city  this  afternoon,"  said  Orinda.  "  You 
will  scarcely  have  time  to  add  anything  to  the  treasures  of 
my  album." 

"Oh!  it  won't  take  me  long,"  replied  Jenkins;  "short 
and  sweet  is  my  motto.  There  will  be  quite  time  enough. 
You  see  I  have  already  finished  my  breakfast.  I  am  not  the 
least  of  a  gourmand,  to  borrow  a  word  from  the  French," 

Orinda  had  really  some  curiosity  to  see  a  specimen  of  Jen 
kins's  poetry :  supposing  that,  like  the  poor  cadet's,  it  might 
be  amusingly  bad.  Therefore,  having  sent  for  her  album,  she 
put  it  hastily  into  Jenkins's  hand  :  for  at  that  moment  Lieuten 
ant  Sunderland,  who  had,  as  usual,  breakfasted  at  the  mess- 
table  with  his  brother  officers,  came  in  to  invite  her  to  walk 
with  him  to  Gee's  Point.  Orinda  assented,  and  immediately 
put  on  her  bonnet,  saying  to  her  lover  as  she  left  the  house — 

1 1  You  know  this  is  one  of  my  favourite  walks — I  like  that 
fine  mass  of  bare  granite  running  far  out  into  the  river,  and  the 
beautiful  view  from  its  extreme  point.  And  then  the  road, 
by  which  we  descend  to  it,  is  so  charmingly  picturesque,  with 
its  deep  ravine  on  one  side,  filled  with  trees  and  flowering  shrubs, 
and  the  dark  and  lofty  cliff  that  towers  up  on  the  other,  where 
the  thick  vine  wanders  in  festoons,  and  the  branches  of  the 
wild  rose  throw  their  long  streamers  down  the  rock,  whose  ut 
most  heights  are  crowned  with  still-lingering  remnants  of  the 
grass-grown  ruins  of  Fort  Clinton." 

J3ut  we  question  if,  on  this  eventful  morning,  the  beauties 


146  THE  ALBUM. 

of  Gee's  Point  were  duly  appreciated  by  our  heroine,  for  long 
before  they  had  reached  it,  her  lover  had  made  an  explicit 
avowal  of  his  feelings  and  his  hopes,  and  had  obtained  from 
her  the  promise  of  her  hand :  which  promise  was  faithfully  ful 
filled  on  that  day  two  months, 

In  the  afternoon,  Lieutenant  Sunderland  accompanied  Miss 
Melbourne  and  her  friends  on  their  return  to  the  city.  Pre 
vious  to  her  departure,  Orinda  did  not  forget  to  remind 
Mr.  Jenkins  of  her  album,  now  doubly  valuable  to  her  as 
containing  the  name  of  La  Fayette,  written  by  his  own  hand. 

Jenkins  begged  a  thousand  pardons,  alleging  that  the 
arrival  of  a  friend  from  New  York,  had  prevented  him  from 
writing  in  it,  as  he  had  intended.  "  And  of  course,"  said  he, 
"  I  could  not  put  off  my  friend,  as  he  is  one  of  the  elite-  of  the 
city,  to  describe  him  in  French.  However,  there  is  time 
enough  yet.  Short  and  sweet,  you  know" — 

"  The  boat  is  in  sight/'  said  Sunderland. 

"Oh!  no  matter/'  answered  Jenkins.  "I  can  do  it  in  a 
minute,  and  I  will  send  it  down  to  the  boat  after  you.  Miss 
Melbourne  shall  have  it  before  she  quits  the  wharf.  I  would 
on  no  consideration  be  guilty  of  disappointing  a  lady." 

And  taking  with  him  the  album,  he  went  directly  to  his 
room. 

"You  had  best  go  down  to  the  dock/'  said  the  cadet,  young 
Melbourne,  who  had  come  to  see  his  sister  off.  "  There  is  no 
time  to  be  lost.  I  will  take  care  that  the  album  reaches  you 
in  safety,  should  you  be  obliged  to  go  without  it." 

They  proceeded  towards  the  river,  but  they  had  scarcely  got 
as  far  as  Mrs.  Thomson's,  when  a  waiter  came  running  after 
them  with  the  book,  saying — "  Mr.  Jenkins's  compliments  to 
Miss  Melbourne,  and  all  is  right." 

"  Really,"  said  Sunderland,  "  that  silly  fellow  must  have  a 
machine  for  making  verses,  to  have  turned  out  anything  like 
poetry  in  so  short  a  time." 

They  were  scarcely  seated  on  the  deck  of  the  steamboat, 
when  Orinda  opened  her  album  to  look  for  the  inspirations 
of  Jenkins's  Muse.  She  found  no  verses.  But  on  the  very 
page  consecrated  by  the  hand  of  La  Fayette,  and  immediately 
under  the  autograph  of  the  hero,  was  written,  in  an  awkward 
school-boy  character,  the  name  of  Jeremiah  Jenkins. 


THE    SET    OF    CHINA. 


"  How  thrive  the  beauties  of  the  graphic  art?" — PETER  PINDAR. 

"  MR.  GUMMAGE,"  said  Mrs.  Atmoro,  as  she  entered  a  cer 
tain  drawing-school,  at  that  time  the  most  fashionable  in  Phi 
ladelphia,  "  I  have  brought  you  a  new  pupil,  my  daughter, 
Miss  Marianne  Atmore.  Have  you  a  vacancy  ?" 

"Why,  I  can't  say  that  I  have/'  replied  Mr.  Gummagc; 
"  I  never  have  vacancies." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  it,"  said  Mrs.  Atmore ;  and  Miss 
Marianne,  a  tall,  handsome  girl  of  fifteen,  looked  disappointed. 

li  But  perhaps  I  could  strain  a  point,  and  find  a  place  for 
her,"  resumed  Mr.  Gummage,  who  knew  very  well  that  he 
never  had  the  smallest  idea  of  limiting  the  number  of  his  pu 
pils,  and  that  if  twenty  more  were  to  apply,  he  would  take 
them  every  one,  however  full  his  school  might  be. 

"  Do,  pray,  Mr.  Gummage,"  said  Mrs.  Atmore ;  "  do  try 
and  make  an  exertion  to  admit  my  daughter ;  I  shall  regard 
it  as  a  particular  favour." 

"Well,  I  believe  she  may  come,"  replied  Gummage :  "I 
suppose  I  can  take  her.  Has  she  any  turn  for  drawing  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Mrs.  Atmore;  "she  has  never 
tried." 

"So  much  the  better/'  said  Gummage;  "I  like  girls  that 
have  never  tried ;  they  are  much  more  manageable  than  those 
that  have  been  scratching  and  daubing  at  home  all  their  lives." 

Mr.  Gummage  was  no  gentleman,  cither  in  appearance  or 
manner.  But  he  passed  for  a  genius  among  those  who  knew 
nothing  of  that  ill-understood  race.  He  had  a  hooked  nose 
that  turned  to  the  right,  and  a  crooked  mouth  that  turned  to 
the  left — his  face  being  very  much  out  of  drawing, — and  he 


148  THE   SET   OF   CHINA. 

had  two  round  eyes  that  in  colour  and  expression  resembled 
two  hazel-nuts.  His  lips  were  "pea-green  and  blue,"  from 
the  habit  of  putting  the  brushes  into  his  mouth  when  they 
were  overcharged  with  colour.  He  took  snuff  inimitably,  and 
generally  carried  half  a  dozen  handkerchiefs,  some  of  which, 
however,  were  to  wrap  his  dinner  in,  as  he  conveyed  it  from 
market  in  his  capacious  pockets;  others,  as  he  said,  were  "to 
wipe  the  girl's  saucers." 

His  usual  costume  was  an  old  dusty  brown  coat,  corduroy 
pantaloons,  and  a  waistcoat  that  had  once  been  red,  boots  that 
had  once  been  black,  and  a  low  crowned  rusty  hat — which  was 
never  off  his  head,  even  in  the  presence  of  the  ladies — and  a 
bandanna  cravat.  The  vulgarity  of  his  habits,  and  the  rudeness 
of  his  deportment,  all  passed  off  under  the  title  of  eccentricity. 
At  the  period  when  he  flourished — it  was  long  before  the  time 
of  Sully — the  beau  ideal  of  an  artist,  at  least  among  the  multi 
tude,  was  an  ugly,  ill-mannered,  dirty  fellow,  that  painted  an 
inch  thick  in  divers  gaudy  colours,  equally  irreconcileable  to 
nature  and  art.  And  the  chief  attractions  of  a  drawing  master 
— for  Mr.  Grummage  was  nothing  more — lay  in  doing  almost 
everything  himself,  and  producing  for  his  pupils,  in  their 
first  quarter,  pictures  (so  called)  that  were  pronounced  "  fit  to 
frame." 

"  "Well,  madam,"  said  Mr.  Gummage,  "  what  do  you  wish 
your  daughter  to  learn  ?  figures,  flowers,  or  landscapes  ?" 

"  Oh  !  all  three,"  replied  Mrs.  Atmore.  "  We  have  been 
furnishing  our  new  house,  and  I  told  Mr.  Atmore  that  he  need 
not  get  any  pictures  for  the  front  parlour,  as  I  would  much  pre 
fer  having  them  all  painted  by  Marianne.  She  has  been  four 
quarters  with  Miss  Julia,*  and  has  worked  Friendship  and 
Innocence,  which  cost,  altogether,  upwards  of  a  hundred  dol 
lars.  Do  you  know  the  piece,  Mr.  Gummage  ?  There  is  a 
tomb  with  a  weeping  willow,  and  two  ladies  with  long  hair,  one 
dressed  in  pink,  the  other  in  blue,  holding  a  wreath  between 
them  over  the  top  of  the  urn.  The  ladies  are  Friendship. 
Then  on  the  right  hand  of  the  piece  is  a  cottage,  and  an  oak, 
and  a  little  girl  dressed  in  yellow,  sitting  on  a  green  bank, 
and  putting  a  wreath  round  the  neck  of  a  lamb.  Nothing  can 
be  more  natural  than  the  lamb's  wool.  It  is  done  entirely  in 
French  knots.  The  child  and  the  lamb  are  Innocence." 

*  Miss  Julianna  Bater,  an  old  Moravian  lady,  from  Bethlehem, 
Pennsylvania,  who  was  well  known  in  Philadelphia,  in  any  years  since, 
as  a  teacher  of  embroidery. 


THE    SET   OF   CHINA.  149 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  Gummage,  "  I  know  tlie  piece  well  enough 
— I've  drawn  them  by  dozens." 

"  Well,"  continued  Mrs.  Atmore,  "  this  satin  piece  hangs 
over  the  front  parlour  mantel.  It  is  much  prettier  and  better 
done  than  the  one  Miss  Longstitch  worked,  of  Charlotte  at  the 
tomb  of  Wcrter,  though  she  did  sew  silver  spangles  all  over 
Charlotte's  lilac  gown,  and  used  chenille,  at  a  fi' -penny-bit  a 
needleful,  for  all  the  banks  and  the  large  tree.  Now,  as  the 
mantel-piece  is  provided  for,  I  wish  a  landscape  for  each  of  the 
recesses,  and  a  figure-piece  to  hang  on  each  side  of  the  large 
looking-glass,  with  flower-pieces  under  them,  all  by  Marianne. 
Can  she  do  all  these  in  one  quarter  ?" 

"No,  that  she  can't,"  replied  Gummage;  "it  will  take  her 
two  quarters'  hard  work,  and  may  be  three,  to  get  through  the 
whole  of  them." 

"  Well,  I  won't  stand  about  a  quarter  more  or  less,"  said 
Mrs.  Atmore ;  "  but  what  I  wish  Marianne  to  do  most  parti 
cularly,  and,  indeed,  the  chief  reason  why  I  send  her  to  draw 
ing-school  just  now,  is  a  pattern  for  a  set  of  china  that  we  are 
going  to  have  made  in  Canton.  I  was  told  the  other  day  by  a 
New  York  lady  (who  was  quite  tired  of  the  queer,  unmeaning 
things  which  are  generally  put  on  India  ware),  that  she  had 
sent  a  pattern  for  a  tea-set,  drawn  by  her  daughter,  and  that 
every  article  came  out  with  the  identical  device  beautifully 
done  on  the  china,  all  in  the  proper  colours.  She  said  it  was 
talked  of  all  over  New  York,  and  that  people  who  had  never 
been  at  the  house  before,  came  to  look  at  and  admire  it.  No 
doubt  it  was  a  great  feather  in  her  daughter's  cap." 

"  Possibly,  madam,"  said  Gummage. 

"  And  now,"  resumed  Mrs.  Atmore,  "  since  I  heard  this,  I 
have  thought  of  nothing  else  than  having  the  same  thing  done 
in  my  family ;  only  I  shall  send  for  a  dinner  set,  and  a  very 
long  one,  too.  Mr.  Atmore  tells  me  that  the  Voltaire,  one  of  Ste 
phen  Girard's  ships,  sails  for  Canton  early  next  month,  and  he 
is  well  acquainted  with  the  captain,  who  will  attend  to  the 
order  for  the  china.  I  suppose  in  the  course  of  a  fortnight 
Marianne  will  have  learnt  drawing  enough  to  enable  her  to  do 
the  pattern  ?" 

"  Oh  !  yes,  madam — quite  enough/'  replied  Gummage,  sup 
pressing  a  laugh. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mrs.  Atmore.  "  And  now,  Mr.  Gum 
mage,  let  me  look  at  some  of  your  models." 

"  Figures,  flowers,  or  landscapes  ?"  asked  the  artist. 


150  THE    SET   OP   CHINA. 

"  Oh !  some  of  each/'  replied  the  lady. 

Mr.  Gummage  had  so  many  pupils — both  boys  and  girls — 
and  so  many  classes,  and  gave  lessons  besides,  at  so  many 
boarding-schools,  that  he  had  no  leisure  time  for  receiving  ap*- 
plications,  and  as  he  kept  his  domicile  incog,  he  saw  all  his 
visiters  at  his  school-room.  Foreseeing  a  long  examination  of 
the  prints,  he  took  from  a  hanging  shelf  several  of  his  numer 
ous  port-folios,  and  having  placed  them  on  a  table  before  Mrs. 
Atmore  and  her  daughter,  he  proceeded  to  go  round  and  direct 
his  present  class  of  young  ladies,  who  were  all  sitting  at  the 
drawing-desks  in  their  bonnets  and  shawls,  because  the  apart 
ment  afforded  no  accommodation  for  these  habiliments  if  laid 
aside.  Each  young  lady  was  leaning  over  a  straining-frame, 
on  which  was  pasted  a  sheet  of  drawing-paper,  and  each  seemed 
engaged  in  attempting  to  copy  one  of  the  coloured  engravings 
that  were  fastened  by  a  slip  of  cleft  cane  to  the  cord  of  twine 
that  ran  along  the  wall.  The  benches  were  dusty,  the  floor 
dirty  and  slopped  with  spilt  water  j  and  the  windows,  for  want 
of  washing,  looked  more  like  horn  than  glass.  The  school 
room  and  teacher  were  all  in  keeping.  Yet  for  many  years 
Mr.  Gummage  was  so  much  in  fashion  that  no  other  drawing- 
masters  had  the  least  chance  of  success.  Those  who  recollect 
the  original,  will  not  think  his  portrait  overcharged. 

We  left  Mr.  Gummage  going  round  his  class  for  the  purpose 
of  giving  a  glance,  and  saying  a  few  words  to  each. 

"  Miss  Jones,  lay  down  the  lid  of  your  paint-box.  No  rulers 
shall  be  used  in  my  school,  as  I  have  often  told  you/' 

"But,  Mr.  Gummage,  only  look  at  the  walls  of  my  castle ; 
they  are  all  leaning  to  one  side ;  both  the  turrets  stand  crooked, 
and  the  doors  and  windows  slant  every  way." 

"No  matter,  it's  my  rule  that  nobody  shall  use  a  rule. 
Miss  Miller,  have  you  rubbed  the  blue  and  bistre  I  told  you  V 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I've  been  at  it  all  the  afternoon ;  here  it  is." 

"  Why,  that's  not  half  enough." 

*•  "  Mr.   Gummage,  I've  rubbed,   and   rubbed,  till   my  arm 
aches  to  the  shoulder,  and  my  face  is  all  in  a  glow." 

"  Then  take  off  your  bonnet,  and  cool  yourself.  I  tell  you 
there's  not  half  enough.  Why,  my  boys  rub  blue  and  bistre 
till  their  faces  run  of  a  stream.  I  make  them  take  off  their 
coats  to  it." 

"  Mr.  Gummage,"  said  one  young  lady,  "  you  promised  to 
put  in  my  sky  to-day." 

"  Mr.  Gummage,"  said  another,  "  I've  been  waiting  for  my 


THE    SET   OF   CHINA.  151 

distances  these  two  weeks.     How  can  I  go  any  farther  till  you 
have  done  them  for  me  ?" 

"Finish  the  fore-ground  to-day.  It  is  time  enough  for  the 
distances  :  I'll  put  them  in  on  Friday." 

"  Mr.  G-ummage,"  said  another,  "  my  river  has  been  expect 
ing  you  since  last  Wednesday." 

"  Why,  you  have  not  put  in  the  boat  yet.  Do  the  boat  to 
day,  and  the  fisherman  on  the  shore.  But  look  at  your  bridge  ! 
Every  arch  is  of  a  different  size — some  big,  and  some  little." 

"  Well,  Mr.  G-ummage,  it  is  your  own  fault — you  should 
let  me  use  compasses.  I  have  a  pair  in  my  box — do,  pray,  let 
me  use  them." 

"No,  I  won't.  My  plan  is  that  you  shall  all  draw  entirely 
by  the  eye." 

"That  is  the  reason  we  make  everything  so  crooked." 

"I  see  nothing  more  crooked  than  yourselves,"  replied  the 
polite  drawing-master. 

"  Mr.  Gum  mage,"  said  another  young  lady,  raising  her 
eyes  from  a  novel  that  she  had  brought  with  her,  "  I  have 
done  nothing  at  my  piece  for  at  least  a  fortnight.  I  have 
been  all  the  time  waiting  for  you  to  put  in  my  large  tree." 

"  Hush  this  moment  with  your  babbling,  every  soul  of  you," 
said  the  teacher,  in  an  under  tone  :  "  don't  you  see  there  are 
strangers  here  ?  What  an  unreasonable  pack  of  fools  you  are  ! 
Can  I  do  everybody's  piece  at  once  ?  Learn  to  have  patience, 
one  and  all  of  you,  and  wait  till  your  turn  comes." 

Some  of  the  girls  tossed  their  heads  and  pouted,  and  some 
laughed,  and  some  quitted  their  desks  and  amused  themselves 
by  looking  out  at  the  windows.  But  the  instructor  turned  his 
back  on  them,  and  walked  off  towards  the  table  at  which  Mrs. 
Atmore  and  her  daughter  were  seated  with  the  portfolios, 
both  making  incessant  exclamations  of  "  How  beautiful ! — how 
elegant ! — how  sweet !" 

"  Oh  !  here  are  Romeo  and  Juliet  in  the  tomb  scene  !"  cried 
Marianne.  "  Look,  mamma,  is  it  not  lovely  ? — the  very  play 
in  which  we  saw  Cooper  and  Mrs.  Merry.  Oh  !  do  let  me 
paint  Romeo  and  Juliet  for  the  dinner  set !  But  stop — here's 
the  Shepherdess  of  the  Alps !  how  magnificent !  I  think  I 
would  rather  do  that  for  the  china.  And  here's  Mary  Queen 
of  Scots ;  I  remember  her  ever  since  I  read  history.  And 
here  are  Telemachus  and  Minerva,  just  as  I  translated  about 
them  in  my  Telemaque  exercises.  Oh  !  let  nae  do  them  for 
the  dinner  set — sha'n't  I,  Mr. 
13 


152  THE   SET   OF   CHINA. 

"  I  don't  see  any  figure-pieces  in  which  the  colours  are  bright 
enough/'  remarked  Mrs.  Atmore. 

"As  to  that,"  observed  Gummage — who  knew  that  the 
burthen  of  the  drawing  would  eventually  fall  on  him,  and  who 
never  liked  to  do  figures — "  I  don't  believe  that  any  of  these 
figure  pieces  would  look  well  if  reduced  so  small  as  to  go  on 
china  plates." 

"Well, — here  are  some  very  fine  landscapes,"  pursued  Mrs. 
Atmore;  "Here's  the  Cascade  of  Tivoli — and  here's  a  view  in 
Jamaica — and  here's  Glastonbury  Abbey." 

"  Oh  !  I  dote  on  abbeys,"  cried  Marianne,  "for  the  sake  of 
Amanda  Fitzalan." 

"Your  papa  will  not  approve  of  your  doing  this,"  observed 
Mrs.  Atmore :  "  you  know,  he  says  that  abbeys  are  nothing 
but  old  tumble-down  churches." 

"  If  I  may  not  do  an  abbey,  let  me  do  a  castle,"  said  Mari 
anne;  "  there's  Conway  Castle  by  moonlight — how  natural  the 
moon  looks ! " 

"  As  to  castles,"  replied  Mrs.  Atmore,  "  you  know  your 
papa  says  they  are  no  better  than  old  jails.  He  hates  both 
abbeys  and  castles." 

"  Well,  here  is  a  noble  country  seat,"  said  Marianne — 
"  <  Chiswick  House/  " 

"  Your  papa  has  no  patience  with  country  seats,"  rejoined 
Mrs.  Atmore.  "  He  says  that  when  people  have  made  their 
money,  they  had  better  stay  in  town  to  enjoy  it;  where  they 
can  be  convenient  to  the  market,  and  the  stores,  and  the  post- 
office,  and  the  coffee-house.  He  likes  a  good  comfortable  three 
story  brick  mansion,  in  a  central  part  of  the  city,  with  marble 
steps,  iron  railings,  and  green  Venetian  shutters." 

"To  cut  the  matter  short,"  said  Mr.  Gummage,  "the  best 
thing  for  the  china  is  a  flower  piece — a  basket,  or  a  wreath — 
or  something  of  that  sort.  You  can  have  a  good  cipher  in  the 
centre,  and  the  colours  may  be  as  bright  as  you  please.  India 
ware  is  generally  painted  with  one  colour  only ;  but  the  Chi 
nese  are  submissive  animals,  and  will  do  just  as  they  are  bid. 
It  may  cost  something  more  to  have  a  variety  of  colours ;  but 
I  suppose  you  will  not  mind  that." 

"  Oh  !  no — no,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Atmore,  "  I  shall  not  care 
for  the  price  ;  I  have  set  my  mind  on  having  this  china  the 
wonder  of  all  Philadelphia." 

Our  readers  will  understand,  that  at  this  period  nearly  all 
the  porcelain  used  in  America  was  of  Chinese  manufacture ; 


THE   SET   OF   CHINA.  153 

very  little  of  that  elegant  article  having  been,  as  yet,  imported 
from  France. 

A  wreath  was  selected  from  the  portfolio  that  contained  the 
engravings  and  drawings  of  flowers.  It  was  decided  that  Ma 
rianne  should  first  execute  it  the  full  size  of  the  model  (which 
was  as  large  as  nature),  that  she  might  immediately  have  a 
piece  to  frame ;  and  that  she  was  afterwards  to  make  a  smaller 
copy  of  it,  as  a  border  for  all  the  articles  of  the  china  set ;  the 
middle  to  be  ornamented  with  the  letter  A,  in  gold,  surrounded 
by  the  rays  of  a  golden  star.  Sprigs  and  tendrils  of  the  flow 
ers  were  to  branch  down  from  the  border,  so  as  nearly  to  reach 
the  gilding  in  the  middle.  The  large  wreath  that  was  intended 
to  frame,  was  to  bear  in  its  centre  the  initials  of  Marianne 
Atmore,  being  the  letters  M.  A.,  painted  in  shell  gold. 

"  And  so/;  said  Mr.  Gummage,  "  having  a  piece  to  frame,  and 
a  pattern  for  your  china,  you'll  kill  two  birds  with  one  stone." 

On  the  following  Monday,  the  young  lady  came  to  take  her 
first  lesson,  followed  by  a  mulatto  boy,  carrying  a  little  black 
morocco  trunk,  that  contained  a  four  row  box  of  Reeves' 
colours,  with  an  assortment  of  camel's  hair  pencils,  half  a 
dozen  white  saucers,  a  water  cup,  a  lead  pencil,  and  a  piece  of 
India  rubber.  Mr.  Gummage  immediately  supplied  her  with 
two  bristle  brushes,  and  sundry  little  shallow  earthern  cups, 
each  containing  a  modicum  of  some  sort  of  body  colour, 
masticot,  flake  white,  &c.,  prepared  by  himself,  and  charged  at 
a  quarter-dollar  apiece,  and  which  he  told  her  she  would  want 
when  she  came  to  do  landscapes  and  figures. 

Mr.  Gummage' s  style  was,  to  put  in  the  sky,  water,  and 
distances  with  opaque  paints,  and  the  most  prominent  objects 
with  transparent  colours.  This  was  probably  the  reason  that 
his  foregrounds  seemed  always  to  be  sunk  in  his  backgrounds. 
The  model  was  scarcely  considered  as  a  guide,  for  he  conti 
nually  told  his  pupils  that  they  must  try  to  excel  it;  and  he 
helped  them  to  do  so  by  making  all  his  skies  deep  red  fire  at  the 
bottom,  and  dark  blue  smoke  at  the  top ;  and  exactly  reversing 
the  colours  on  the  water,  by  putting  red  at  the  top,  and  blue  at 
the  bottom.  The  distant  mountains  were  lilac  and  white,  and 
the  near  rocks  buff  colour  shaded  with  purple.  The  castles 
and  abbeys  were  usually  gamboge.  The  trees  were  dabbed  and 
dotted  in  with  a  large  bristle  brush,  so  that  the  foliage  looked 
like  a  green  fog.  The  foam  of  the  cascades  resembled  a  con 
course  of  wigs,  scuffling  together  and  knocking  the  powder  out 
of  each  other,  the  spray  being  always  fizzed  on  with  one  of  the 
aforesaid  bristle  brushes.  All  the  dark  shadows  in  every  part 


154  THE    SET    OF   CHINA. 

of  the  picture  were  done  with  a  mixture  of  Prussian  Tblue  and 
bistre,  and  of  these  two  colours  there  was  consequently  a  vast 
consumption  in  Mr.  Gummage's  school.  At  the  period  of  our 
story,  many  of  the  best  houses  in  Philadelphia  were  decorated 
with  these  landscapes.  But  for  the  honour  of  my  towns 
people,  I  must  say  that  the  taste  for  such  productions  is  now 
entirely  obsolete.  We  may  look  forward  to  the  time,  which 
we  trust  is  not  far  distant,  when  the  elements  of  drawing  will 
be  taught  in  every  school,  and  considered  as  indispensable  to 
education  as  a  knowledge  of  writing.  It  has  long  been  our 
belief  that  any  child  may,  with  proper  instruction,  be  made 
to  draw,  as  easily  as  any  child  may  be  made  to  write.  'We 
are  rejoiced  to  find  that  so  distinguished  an  artist  as  Rem 
brandt  Peale  has  avowed  the  same  opinion,  in  giving  to  the 
world  his  invaluable  little  work  on  Graphics  :  in  which  he  has 
clearly  demonstrated  the  affinity  between  drawing  and  writing, 
and  admirably  exemplified  the  leading  principles  of  both. 

Marianne's  first  attempt  at  the  great  wreath  was  awkward 
enough.  After  she  had  spent  five  or  six  afternoons  at  the 
outline,  and  made  it  triangular  rather  than  circular,  and  found 
it  impossible  to  get  in  the  sweet  pea,  and  the  convolvulus,  and 
lost  and  bewildered  herself  among  the  multitude  of  leaves  that 
formed  the  cup  of  the  rose,  Mr.  Gummage  snatched  the  pencil 
from  her  hand,  rubbed  out  the  whole,  and  then  drew  it  him 
self.  It  must  be  confessed  that  his  forte  lay  in  flowers,  and 
he  was  extremely  clever  at  them;  "out,  as  he  expressed  it, 
"  his  scholars  chiefly  ran  upon  landscapes." 

After  he  had  sketched  the  wreath,  he  directed  Marianne  to 
rub  the  colours  for  her  flowers,  while  he  put  in  Miss  Smith- 
son's  rocks. 

When  Marianne  had  covered  all  her  saucers  with  colours, 
and  wasted  ten  times  as  much  as  was  necessary,  she  was  eager 
to  commence  painting,  as  she  called  it;  and  in  trying  to  wash 
the  rose  with  lake,  she  daubed  it  on  of  crimson  thickness. 
When  Mr.  Gummage  saw  it,  he  gave  her  a  severe  reprimand 
for  meddling  with  her  own  piece.  It  was  with  great  difficulty 
that  the  superabundant  colour  was  removed ;  and  he  charged 
her  to  let  the  flowers  alone  till  he  was  ready  to  wash  them  for 
her.  He  worked  a  little  at  the  piece  every  day,  forbidding 
Marianne  to  touch  it :  and  she  remained  idle  while  he  was 
putting  in  skies,  mountains,  &c.,  for  the  other  young  ladies. 

At  length  the  wreath  was  finished — Mr.  Gummage  having 
only  sketched  it,  and  washed  it,  and  given  it  the  last  touches, 
It  was  put  into  a  splendid  fraine;  and  shown  as  Miss  Marianne 


THE   SET   OF   CHINA.  155 

Atmore's  first  attempt  at  painting  ;  and  everybody  exclaimed, 
"  What  an  excellent  teacher  Mr.  Grummage  must  be  !  How 
fast  he  brings  on  his  pupils !" 

In  the  mean  time,  she  undertook  at  home  to  make  the  small 
copy  that  was  to  go  to  China.  But  she  was  now  "  at  a  dead 
lock,"  and  found  it  utterly  impossible  to  advance  a  step  with 
out  Mr.  Gummage.  It  was  then  thought  best  that  she  should 
do  it  at  school — meaning  that  Mr.  Grummage  should  do  it  for 
her,  while  she  looked  out  of  the  window. 

The  whole  was  at  last  satisfactorily  accomplished,  even  to 
the  gilt  star  with  the  A  in  the  centre.  It  was  taken  home  and 
compared  with  the  larger  wreath,  and  found  still  prettier,  and 
shown  as  Marianne's,  to  the  envy  of  all  mothers  whose  daugh 
ters  could  not  furnish  models  for  china.  It  was  finally  given 
in  charge  to  the  captain  of  the  Voltaire,  with  injunctions  to 
order  a  dinner-set  exactly  according  to  the  pattern — and  to 
prevent  the  possibility  of  a  mistake,  a  written  direction  accom 
panied  it. 

The  ship  sailed — and  Marianne  continued  three  quarters  at 
Mr.  Gummage's  school,  where  she  nominally  effected  another 
flower  piece,  and  also  perpetrated  Kemble  in  Holla,  Edwin 
and  Angelina,  the  Falls  of  the  Rhine,  and  the  Falls  of  Nia 
gara;  all  of  which  were  duly  framed,  and  hung  in  their 
appointed  places. 

During  the  year  that  followed  the  departure  of  the  ship 
Voltaire,  great  impatience  for  her  return  was  manifested  by 
the  ladies  of  the  Atmore  family — anxious  to  see  how  the 
china  would  look,  and  frequently  hoping  that  the  colours  would 
be  bright  enough,  and  none  of  the  flowers  omitted — that  the 
gilding  would  be  rich,  and  everything  inserted  in  its  proper 
place,  exactly  according  to  the  pattern.  Mrs.  Atmore's  only 
regret  was,  that  she  had  not  sent  for  a  tea-set  also ;  not  that 
she  was  in  want  of  one,  but  then  it  would  be  so  much  better 
to  have  a  dinner-set  and  a  tea-set  precisely  alike,  and  Marianne's 
beautiful  wreath  on  all. 

"  Why,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Atmore,  "  how  often  have  I  heard 
you  say  that  you  would  never  have  another  tea-set  from  Can 
ton,  because  the  Chinese  persist  in  making  the  principal 
articles  of  such  old-fashioned,  awkward  shapes.  For  my  part, 
I  always  disliked  the  tall  coffee  pots,  with  their  straight  spouts, 
looking  like  light-houses  with  bowsprits  to  them;  and  the 
short,  clumsy  tea-pots,  with  their  twisted  handles,  and  lids 
that  always  fall  off." 
13* 


156  THE   SET   OP   CHINA. 

"  To  be  sure/'  said  Mrs.  Atmore,  "  I  have  been  looking  for 
ward  to  the  time,  when  we  can  get  a  French  tea-set  upon  toler 
able  terms.  But  in  the  mean  while,  I  should  be  very  glad  to 
have  cups  and  saucers  with  Marianne's  beautiful  wreath,  and 
of  course,  when  we  use  this  china  on  the  table  we  shall  always 
bring  forward  our  silver  pots/' 

Spring  returned,  and  there  was  much  watching  of  the  vanes, 
and  great  joy  when  they  pointed  easterly,  and  the  ship-news 
now  became  the  most  interesting  column  of  the  papers.  A 
vessel  that  had  sailed  from  New  York  for  Canton,  on  the  same 
day  the  Voltaire  departed  for  Philadelphia,  had  already  got 
in;  therefore  the  Voltaire  might  be  hourly  expected.  At 
length  she  was  reported  below ;  and  at  this  period  the  river 
Delaware  suffered  much,  in  comparison  with  the  river  Hud 
son,  owing  to  the  tediousness  of  its  navigation  from  the  capes 
to  the  city. 

At  last  the  Voltaire  cast  anchor  at  the  foot  of  Market 
street,  and  our  ladies  could  scarcely  refrain  from  walking  down 
to  the  wharf  to  see  the  ship  that  held  the  box,  that  held  the 
china.  But  invitations  were  immediately  sent  out  for  a  long 
projected  dinner-party,  which  Mrs.  Atmore  had  persuaded  her 
husband  to  defer  till  they  could  exhibit  the  beautiful  new 
porcelain. 

The  box  was  landed,  and  conveyed  to  the  house.  The  whole 
family  were  present  at  the  opening,  which  was  performed  in 
the  dining-room  by  Mr.  Atmore  himself, — all  the  servants 
peeping  in  at  the  door.  As  soon  as  a  part  of  the  lid  was  split 
off,  and  a  handful  of  straw  removed,  a  pile  of  plates  appeared, 
all  separately  wrapped  in  India  paper.  Each  of  the  family 
snatched  up  a  plate  and  hastily  tore  off  the  covering.  There 
were  the  flowers  glowing  in  beautiful  colours,  and  the  gold 
star  and  the  gold  A,  admirably  executed.  But  under  the  gold 
star,  on  every  plate,  dish,  and  tureen,  were  the  words,  "  THIS 
IN  THE  MIDDLE  !" — being  the  direction  which  the  literal  and 
exact  Chinese  had  minutely  copied  from  a  crooked  line  that 
Mr.  Atmore  had  hastily  scrawled  on  the  pattern  with  a  very 
bad  pen,  and  of  course  without  the  slightest  thought  of  its 
being  inserted  verbatim  beneath  the  central  ornament. 

Mr.  Atmore  laughed — Mrs.  Atmore  cried — the  servants 
giggled  aloud — and  Marianne  cried  first,  and  laughed  after 
wards. 

The  only  good  that  resulted  was,  that  it  gave  occasion  to 
Mr.  Atmore  to  relate  the  story  to  his  guests  whenever  he  had 
a  dinner-party. 


LAURA  LOVEL. 


"The  world  is  still  deceived  with  ornament." — SHAKSPEARE. 

LAURA  LOVEL  was  the  eldest  surviving  daughter  of  a 
clergyman  settled  in  a  retired  and  beautiful  village  at  the 
western  extremity  of  the  state  of  Massachusetts.  Between 
Laura  and  her  two  youngest  sisters,  three  other  children  had 
died.  Being  so  much  their  senior,  it  was  in  her  power  to 
assist  her  father  materially  in  the  instruction  of  Ella  and 
Rosa ;  as  after  his  family  had  become  small,  Mr.  Lovel  thought 
it  best  that  the  two  little  girls  should  receive  all  their  education 
at  home,  and  never  were  children  that  conferred  more  credit 
on  their  teachers.  Mrs.  Lovel  was  a  plain,  good  woman,  of 
excellent  practical  sense,  a  notable  seamstress,  and  a  first-rate 
housewife.  Few  families  were  more  perfectly  happy,  not 
withstanding  that  the  limited  income  of  Mr.  Lovel  (though 
sufficient  for  comfort)  left  them  little  or  nothing  for  super 
fluities. 

They  had  a  very  neat  house  standing  in  the  centre  of  a 
flourishing  garden,  in  which  utility  had  been  the  first  consi 
deration,  though  blended  as  far  as  possible  with  beauty.  The 
stone  fence  looked  like  a  hedge  of  nasturtians.  The  pillars 
supporting  the  rustic  piazza  that  surrounded  the  house,  were 
the  rough  trunks  of  small  trees,  with  a  sufficient  portion  of 
the  chief  branches  remaining,  to  afford  resting-places  for  the 
luxuriant  masses  of  scarlet  beans  that  ran  over  them ;  fur 
nishing,  when  the  blossoms  were  off,  and  the  green  pods  full 
grown,  an  excellent  vegetable-dish  for  the  table.  The  house 
was  shaded  with  fruit-trees  exclusively ;  and  the  garden  shrubs 
were  all  raspberry,  currant,  and  gooseberry,  and  the  flowers 

(157) 


158  LAURA   LOVEL. 

were  chiefly  those  that  had  medicinal  properties,  or  could  be 
turned  to  culinary  purposes — with  the  exception  of  some  that 
were  cultivated  purposely  for  the  bees.  A  meadow  which 
pastured  two  cows  and  a  horse,  completed  the  little  domain. 

About  the  time  that  Laura  Level  had  finished  her  seven 
teenth  year,  there  came  to  the  village  of  Rosebrook  an  old 
friend  of  her  father's,  whom  he  had  long  since  lost  sight  of. 
They  had  received  their  early  education  at  the  same  school, 
they  had  met  again  at  college,  and  had  some  years  after  per 
formed  together  a  voyage  to  India;  Mr.  Brantley  as  super 
cargo,  Mr.  Lovel  as  a  missionary.  Mr.  Brantley  had  been 
very  successful  in  business,  and  was  now  a  merchant  of  wealth 
and  respectability,  with  a  handsome  establishment  in  Boston. 
Mr.  Lovel  had  settled  down  as  pastor  of  the  principal  church 
in  his  native  village. 

The  object  of  Mr.  Brantley's  present  visit  to  Rosebrook, 
was  to  inquire  personally  into  the  state  of  some  property  he 
still  retained  there.  Mr.  Lovel  would  not  allow  his  old  friend 
to  remain  at  the  tavern,  but  insisted  that  his  house  should  be 
his  abiding  place ;  and  they  had  much  pleasure  in  comparing 
their  reminiscences  of  former  times.  As  their  chief  conver 
sation  was  on  topics  common  to  both,  Mr.  Lovel  did  not  per 
ceive  that,  except  upon  mercantile  subjects,  Mr.  Brantley  had 
acquired  few  new  ideas  since  they  had  last  met,  and  that  his 
reading  was  confined  exclusively  to  the  newspapers.  But  he 
saw  that  in  quiet  good-nature,  and  easiness  of  disposition,  his 
old  friend  was  still  the  same  as  in  early  life. 

Mr.  Brantley  was  so  pleased  with  every  member  of  the 
Lovel  family,  and  liked  his  visit  so  much,  that  he  was  induced 
to  prolong  it  two  days  beyond  his  first  intention ;  and  he  ex 
pressed  an  earnest  desire  to  take  Laura  home  with  him,  to 
pass  a  few  weeks  with  his  wife  and  daughter.  This  proposal, 
however,  was  declined,  with  sincere  acknowledgments  for  its 
kindness  j  Mr.  LovePs  delicacy  making  him  unwilling  to  send 
his  daughter,  as  a  guest,  to  a  lady  who  as  yet  was  ignorant  of 
her  existence,  and  Laura  sharing  in  her  father's  scruples. 

Mr.  Brantley  took  his  leave :  and  three  months  afterwards 
he  paid  a  second  visit  to  Rosebrook,  for  the  purpose  of  selling 
his  property  in  that  neighbourhood.  He  brought  with  him  a 
short  but  very  polite  letter  from  his  wife  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Lovel,  renewing  the  invitation  for  Laura,  and  pressing  it  in  a 
manner  that  could  scarcely  be  withstood.  Mr.  Lovel  began 
to  waver ;  Mrs.  Lovel  thought  it  was  time  that  Laura  should 


LAURA   LOVEL.  159 

gee  a  little  of  the  world,  and  Laura's  speaking  looks  told  how 
much  pleasure  she  anticipated  from  the  excursion.  The  two 
little  girls,  though  their  eyes  filled  at  the  idea  of  being  sepa 
rated  from  their  beloved  sister,  most  magnanimously  joined  in 
entreating  permission  for  her  to  go,  as  they  saw  that  she 
wished  it.  Finally,  Mr.  Lovel  consented  j  and  Laura  seemed 
to  tread  on  air  while  making  her  preparations  for  the  journey. 

That  evening,  at  the  hour  of  family  worship,  her  father 
laid  his  hand  on  Laura's  head,  and  uttered  a  fervent  prayer 
for  the  preservation  of  her  health  and  happiness  during  her 
absence  from  the  paternal  roof.  Mrs.  Lovel  and  all  her  daugh 
ters  were  deeply  affected,  and  Mr.  Brantley  looked  very  much 
inclined  to  participate  in  their  emotion. 

Early  next  morning  Mr.  Brantley's  chaise  was  at  the  door, 
and  Laura  took  leave  of  the  family  with  almost  as  many  tears 
and  kisses  as  if  she  had  been  going  to  cross  the  Atlantic. 
Little  Ella,  who  was  about  eight  years  old,  presented  her,  at 
parting,  with  a  very  ingenious  needle-book  of  her  own  making, 
and  Rosa,  who  was  just  seven,  gave  her  as  a  keepsake  an 
equally  clever  pincushion.  She  promised  to  bring  them  new 
books,  and  other  little  presents  from  Boston,  a  place  in  which 
they  supposed  everything  that  the  world  produced,  could  be 
obtained  without  difficulty. 

Finally,  the  last  farewell  was  uttered,  the  last  kiss  was 
given,  and  Laura  Lovel  took  her  seat  in  the  chaise  beside  Mr. 
Brantley,  who  drove  off  at  a  rapid  pace ;  and  in  a  few  mo 
ments  a  turn  in  the  road  hid  from  her  view  the  house  of  her 
father,  and  the  affectionate  group  that  still  lingered  at  its  gate, 
to  catch  the  latest  glimpse  of  the  vehicle  that  was  bearing 
away  from  them  the  daughter  and  the  sister. 

As  they  proceeded  on  their  journey,  Laura's  spirits  gradu 
ally  revived,  and  she  soon  became  interested  or  delighted  with 
everything  she  beheld ;  for  she  had  a  quick  perception,  with  a 
mind  of  much  intelligence  and  depth  of  observation. 

The  second  day  of  their  journey  had  nearly  closed,  before 
the  spires  of  the  Boston  churches,  and  the  majestic  dome  of 
the  State  House,  met  the  intense  gaze  of  our  heroine.  Thou 
sands  of  lights  soon  twinkled  over  the  city  of  the  three  hills, 
and  the  long  vistas  of  lamps  that  illuminated  the  bridges, 
seemed  to  the  unpractised  eyes  of  Laura  Lovel  to  realize  the 
glories  of  the  Arabian  Nights.  "  Oh  !"  she  involuntarily  ex 
claimed,  "  if  my  dear  little  sisters  could  only  be  with  me 
now  I" 


160  LAURA   LOVEL. 

As  they  entered  by  the  western  avenue,  and  as  Mr.  Brant- 
ley's  residence  was  situated  in  the  eastern  part  of  the  city, 
Laura  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  as  she  passed  a  vast  num 
ber  of  lofty,  spacious,  and  noble-looking  dwelling-houses,  in 
the  erection  of  which  the  patrician  families  of  Boston  have 
perhaps  surpassed  all  the  other  aristocracies  of  the  Union  j 
for,  sternly  republican  as  are  our  laws  and  institutions,  it  can 
not  be  denied  that  in  private  life  every  section  of  our  common 
wealth  has  its  aristocracy. 

At  length  they  stopped  at  Mr.  Brantley's  door,  and  Laura 
had  a  very  polite  reception  from  the  lady  of  the  mansion,  an 
indolent,  good-natured,  insipid  woman,  the  chief  business  of 
whose  life  was  dress  and  company.  Mr.  Brantlcy  had  pur 
chased  a  large  and  handsome  house  in  the  western  part  of  the 
town,  to  which  the  family  were  to  remove  in  the  course  of  the 
autumn,  and  it  was  Mrs.  Brantley's  intention,  when  they  were 
settled  in  their  new  and  elegant  establishment,  to  get  into  a 
higher  circle,  and  to  have  weekly  soirees.  To  make  her  parties 
the  more  attractive,  she  was  desirous  of  engaging  some  very 
pretty  young  lady  (a  stranger  with  a  new  face)  to  pass  the 
winter  with  her.  She  had  but  one  child,  a  pert,  forward  girl, 
about  fourteen,  thin,  pale,  and  seeming  "  as  if  she  suffered  a 
great  deal  in  order  to  look  pretty."  She  sat,  stood,  and  moved, 
as  if  in  constant  pain  from  the  tightness  of  her  corsets,  the 
smallness  of  her  sleeve-holes,  and  the  narrowness  of  her  shoes. 
Her  hair,  having  been  kept  long  during  the  whole  period  of 
her  childhood,  was  exhausted  with  incessant  tying,  brushing, 
and  curling,  and  she  was  already  obliged  to  make  artificial 
additions  to  it.  It  was  at  this  time  a  mountain  of  bows,  plaits, 
and  puffs ;  and  her  costume  was  in  every  respect  that  of  a 
woman  of  twenty.  She  was  extremely  anxious  to  "  come 
out,"  as  it  is  called,  but  her  father  insisted  on  her  staying  in, 
till  she  had  finished  her  education ;  and  her  mother  had  been 
told  that  it  was  very  impolitic  to  allow  young  ladies  to  "  ap 
pear  in  society"  at  too  early  an  age,  as  they  were  always  sup 
posed  to  be  older  than  they  really  were,  and  therefore  would 
be  the  sooner  considered  passee. 

After  tea,  Mrs.  Brantley  reclined  herself  idly  in  one  of  the 
rocking-chairs,  Mr.  Brantley  retired  to  the  back  parlour  to 
read  undisturbed  the  evening  papers,  and  Augusta  took  up 
some  bead-work,  while  Laura  looked  over  the  Souvenirs  with 
which  the  centre-table  was  strewed. 


LAURA  LOVEL.  161 

"How  happy  you  must  be,  Miss  Brantley,"  said  Laura, 
"  to  have  it  in  your  power  to  read  so  many  new  books !" 

"  As  to  reading,"  replied  Augusta,  "  I  never  have  any  time 
to  spare  for  that  purpose;  what  with  my  music,  and  my 
dancing,  and  my  lessons  in  French  conversation,  and  my 
worsted-work,  and  my  bead-work ;  then  I  have  every  day  to 
go  out  shopping,  for  I  always  will  choose  everything  for  my 
self.  Mamma  has  not  the  least  idea  of  my  taste ;  at  least,  she 
never  remembers  it.  And  then  there  is  always  some  business 
with  the  mantuamakers  and  milliners.  And  I  have  so  many 
morning  visits  to  pay  with  mamma — and  in  the  afternoon  I  am 
generally  so  tired  that  I  can  do  nothing  but  put  on  a  wrapper, 
and  throw  myself  on  the  bed,  and  sleep  till  it  is  time  to  dress 
for  evening. 

"  Oh  !"  thought  Laura  Lovel,  "  how  differently  do  we  pass 
our  time  at  Rosebrook  ! — Is  not  this  a  beautiful  engraving  ?" 
she  continued,  holding  one  of  the  open  Souvenirs  towards 
Augusta. 

"  Yes — pretty  enough/'  replied  Augusta,  scarcely  turning 
her  head  to  look  at  it. — "  Mamma,  do  not  you  think  I  had 
better  have  my  green  pelerine  cut  in  points  rather  than  in 
scollops  ?" 

"I  think,"  replied  Mrs.  Brantley,  "that  scollops  are  the 
prettiest/' 

" Really,  mamma,"  said  Augusta,  petulantly,  "it  is  very 
peculiar  in  you  to  say  so,  when  you  ought  to  know  that  scol 
lops  have  had  their  day,  and  that  points  have  come  round 
again." 

"  Very  well,  then,  my  love,"  replied  Mrs.  Brantley,  indo 
lently,  "  consult  your  own  taste." 

"That  I  always  do,"  said  Augusta,  half  aside  to  Laura, 
who,  addressing  herself  to  Mrs.  Brantley,  made  some  inquiry 
about  the  last  new  novel. 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  have  read  it,"  answered  Mrs.  Brant 
ley  ;  "  at  least,  I  don't  know  that  I  have.  Augusta,  my  love, 
do  you  recollect  if  you  have  heard  me  say  anything  about  the 
last  new  book — the — a — the — what  is  it  you  call  it,  Miss 
Lovel  ?" 

"  La !  mamma,"  said  Augusta,  "  I  should  as  soon  expect 
you  to  write  a  book  as  to  read  one." 

There*was  a  pause  for  a  minute  or  two.  Augusta  then 
leaning  back  towards  her  mother,  exclaimed,  "Upon  second 
thoughts,  I  think  I  will  have  the  green  pelerine  scolloped,  and 


162  LAURA  LOVEL. 

the  blue  one  pointed.     But  the  points  shall  be  squared  at  the 
ends — on  that  I  am  determined/7 

Laura  now  took  up  a  volume  of  the  juvenile  annual,  enti 
tled  the  Pearl,  and  said  to  Augusta,  "  You  have  most  probably 
a  complete  set  of  the  Pearl/' 

"After  all,  mamma,"  pursued  Augusta,  " butterfly  bows 
are  much  prettier  than  shell-bows.  What  were  you  saying 
just  now,  Miss  Lovel,  about  my  having  a  set  of  pearls  ? — you 
may  well  ask ;" — looking  spitefully  towards  the  back-parlour, 
in  which  her  father  was  sitting.  (( Papa  holds  out  that  he 
will  not  give  me  a  set  till  I  am  eighteen;  and  as  to  gold 
chains,  and  corals,  and  cornelians,  I  am  sick  of  them,  and  I 
won't  wear  them  at  all;  so  you  see  me  without  any  ornaments 
whatever,  which  you  must  think  very  peculiar." 

Laura  had  tact  enough  to  perceive  that  any  further  attempt 
at  a  conversation  on  books  would  be  unavailing ;  and  she 
made  some  inquiry  about  the  annual  exhibition  of  pictures 
at  the  Athenaeum. 

"  I  believe  it  is  a  very  good  one,"  replied  Mrs.  Brantley. 

"  We  stopped  there  one  day  on  our  way  to  dine  with  some 

friends  out  of  town.    But  as  the  carriage  was  waiting,  and  the 

horses  were  impatient,  we  only  stayed  a  few  minutes,  just  long 

,  enough  to  walk  round." 

"  Oh  !  yes,  mamma,"  cried  Augusta ;  tf  and  don't  you  recol 
lect  we  saw  Miss  Darford  there  in  a  new  dress  of  lavender- 
coloured  grenadine,  though  grenadines  have  been  over  these 
hundred  years.  And  there  was  pretty  Mrs.  Lenham,  as 
the  gentlemen  call  her,  in  a  puce-coloured  italianct,  though 
italianets  have  been  out  for  ages.  And  don't  you  remember 
Miss  Grover's  canary-coloured  reps  bonnet,  that  looked  as  if  it 
had  been  made  in  the  ark.  The  idea  of  any  one  wearing  reps  ! 
a  thing  that  has  not  been  seen  since  the  flood !  Only  think 
of  reps  I" 

Laura  Lovel  wondered  what  reps  could  possibly  be.  u  Now 
I  talk  of  bonnets,"  pursued  Augusta;  "pray,  mamma,  did 
you  tell  Miss  Pipingcord  that  I  would  have  my  Tuscan  Leg 
horn  trimmed  with  the  lilac  and  green  riband,  instead  of  the 
blue  and  yellow  ?" 

"  Indeed,"  replied  Mrs.  Brantley,  "  I  found  your  cousin 
Mary  so  extremely  ill  this  afternoon  when  I  went  ta  see  her, 
and  my  sister  so  very  uneasy  on  her  account,  that  I  absolutely 
forgot  to  call  at  the  milliner's,  as  I  had  promised  you." 

"  Was  there  ever  anything  so  vexatious  !"  exclaimed  Au- 


I,AURA   LOVEL.  163 

gusta,  throwing  down  her  bead-work.  "Really,  mamma, 
there  is  no  trusting  you  at  all.  You  never  remember  to  do 
anything  you  are  desired/7  And  flying  to  the  bell;  she  rang 
it  with  violence. 

"  I  could  think  of  nothing  but  poor  Mary's  danger/'  said 
Mrs.  Brantley,  "  and  the  twenty -five  leeches  that  I  saw  on 
her  forehead/' 

"  Dreadful !"  ejaculated  Augusta.  "  But  you  might  have 
supposed  that  the  leeches  would  do  her  good,  as,  of  course, 
they  will.  Here,  William,"  addressing  the  servant-man  that 
had  just  entered,  "run  as  if  you  were  running  for  your  life 
to  Miss  Pipingcord,  the  milliner,  and  tell  her  upon  no  account 
whatever  to  trim  Miss  Brantley's  Tuscan  Leghorn  with  the 
blue  and  yellow  riband  that  was  deci4ed  on  yesterday.  Tell 
her  I  have  changed  my  mind,  and  resolved  upon  the  lilac  and 
green.  Fly  as  if  you  had  not  another  moment  to  live,  or 
Miss  Pipingcord  will  have  already  trimmed  the  bonnet  with 
the  blue  and  yellow." 

"  And  then,"  said  Mrs.  Brantley,  "  go  to  Mrs.  Ashmore's, 
and  inquire  how  Miss  Mary  is  this  evening." 

"Why,  mamma,"  exclaimed  Augusta,  "aunt  Ashmore 
lives  so  far  from  Miss  Pipingcord' s,  that  it  will  be  ten  or 
eleven  o'clock  before  William  gets  back,  and  I  shall  be  all 
that  time  on  thorns  to  know  if  she  has  not  already  disfigured 
my  bonnet  with  the  vile  blue  and  yellow." 

"  Yesterday,"  said  Mrs.  Brantley,  "  you  admired  that  very 
riband  extremely." 

"  So  I  did,"  replied  Augusta,  "but  I  have  been  thinking 
about  it  since,  and,  as  I  tell  you,  I  have  changed  my  mind. 
And  now  that  I  have  set  my  heart  upon  the  lilac  and  green, 
I  absolutely  detest  the  blue  and  yellow." 

"  But  I  am  really  very  anxious  to  know  how  Mary  is  to 
night,"  said  Mrs.  Brantley. 

"  Oh  !"  replied  Augusta,  "  I  dare  say  the  leeches  have  re 
lieved  her.  And  if  they  have  not,  no  doubt  Dr.  Warren  will 
order  twenty-five  more — or  something  else  that  will  answer 
the  purpose.  She  is  in  very  good  hands — I  am  certain  that 
in  the  morning  we  shall  hear  she  is  considerably  better.  At 
all  events,  I  will  not  wear  the  hateful  blue  and  yellow  riband. 
• — William,  what  are  you  standing  for  ?" 

The  man  turned  to  leave  the  room,  but  Mrs.  Brantley 
called  him  back.  "  William,"  said  she,  "  tell  one  of  the  wo 
men  to  go  to  Mrs.  Ashmore's  and  inquire  how  Miss  Mary  is." 
14 


164  LAURA   LOVEL. 

"  Eliza  and  Matilda  are  both  out,"  said  William,  "  and 
Louisa  is  crying  with  the  toothache,  and  steaming  her  face 
over  hot  verbs.  I  guess  she  won't  be  willing  to  walk  so  far 
in  the  night-air,  just  out  of  the  steam." 

"  William,"  exclaimed  Augusta,  stamping  with  her  foot, 
"  don't  stand  here  talking,  but  go  at  once;  there's  not  a  mo 
ment  to  lose.  Tell  Miss  Pipingcord  if  she  has  put  on  that 
horrid  riband,  she  must  take  it  off  again,  and  charge  it  in  the 
bill,  if  she  pretends  she  can't  afford  to  lose  it,  as  I  dare  say 
she  will ;  and  tell  her  to  be  sure  and  send  the  bonnet  home 
early  in  the  morning — I  am  dying  to  see  it." 

To  all  this,  Laura  Lovel  had  sat  listening  in  amazement, 
and  could  scarcely  conceive  the  possibility  of  the  mind  of  so 
young  a  girl  being  totally  absorbed  in  things  that  concerned 
nothing  but  external  appearance.  She  had  yet  to  learn  that 
a  passion  for  dress,  when  thoroughly  excited  in  the  female 
bosom,  and  carried  to  excess,  has  a  direct  tendency  to  cloud 
the  understanding,  injure  the  temper,  and  harden  the  heart. 

Till  the  return  of  William,  Augusta  seemed  indeed  to  be 
on  thorns.  At  last  he  came,  and  brought  with  him  the  bon 
net,  trimmed  with  the  blue  and,  yellow.  Augusta  snatched 
it  out  of  the  bandbox,  and  stood  speechless  with  passion,  and 
William  thus  delivered  his  message  from  the  milliner : — 

"  Miss  Pippincod  sends  word  that  she  had  riband' d  the 
bonnet  afore  I  come  for  it — she  says  she  has  used  up  all  her 
laylock  green  for  another  lady's  bonnet,  as  chose  it  this  very 
afternoon ;  and  she  guesses  you  won't  stand  no  chance  of  find 
ing  no  more  of  it,  if  yow.  sarch  Boston  through ;  and  she  says 
she  shew  you  all  her  ribands  yesterday,  and  you  chose  the 
yellow  blue  yourself,  and  she  han't  got  no  more  ribands  as 
you'd  be  likely  to  like.  Them's  her  very  words." 

"  How  I  hate  milliners  !"  exclaimed  Augusta ;  and  ringing 
for  the  maid  that  always  assisted  her  in  undressing,  she 
flounced  out  of  the  room  and  went  to  bed. 

"  Miss  Lovel,"  said  Mrs.  Brantley,  smiling,  "  you  must  ex 
cuse  dear  Augusta.  She  is  extremely  sensitive  about  every- 
thing,  and  that  is  the  reason  she  is  apt  to  give  way  to  these 
little  fits  of  irritation." 

Laura  retired  to  her  room,  grieving  to  think  how  unamiable 
a  young  girl  might  be  made,  by  the  indulgence  of  an  inordi 
nate  passion  for  dress. 

Augusta's  cousin  Mary  did  not  die. 

The  following  day  was  to  have  been  devoted  to  shopping, 


LAURA   LOVEL.  165 

and  to  making  some  additions  to  the  simple  wardrobe  of  Laura 
Lovel,  for  which  purpose  her  father  had  given  her  as  much 
money  as  he  could  possibly  spare.  But  it  rained  till  late  in 
the  afternoon,  and  Mrs.  Brantley' s  coach  was  out  of  order,  and 
the  Brantleys  (like  many  other  families  that  kept  carriages 
of  their  own)  could  not  conceive  the  possibility  of  hiring  a 
similar  vehicle  upon  any  exigency  whatever. 

It  is  true  that  the  present  case  was  in  reality  no  exigency  at 
all;  but  Mrs.  Brantley  and  her  daughter  seemed  to  consider 
it  as  such,  from  the  one  watching  the  clouds  all  day  as  she  sat 
at  the  window,  in  her  rocking-chair,  and  the  other  wandering 
about  like  a  troubled  spirit,  fretting  all  the  time,  and  complain 
ing  of  the  weather.  Laura  got  through  the  hours  very  well, 
between  reading  Souvenirs  (almost  the  only  books  in  the 
house)  and  writing  a  long  letter  to  inform  her  family  of  her 
safe  arrival,  and  to  describe  her  journey.  Towards  evening, 
a  coach  was  heard  to  stop  at  the  door,  and  there  was  a  violent 
ringing,  followed  by  a  loud  sharp  voice  in  the  entry,  inquir 
ing  for  Mrs.  Brantley,  who  started  from  her  rocking-chair, 
as  Augusta  exclaimed,  "  Miss  Frampton  ! — I  know  'tis  Miss 
Frampton  !"  The  young  lady  rushed  into  the  hall,  while  her 
mother  advanced  a  few  steps,  and  Mr.  Brantley  threw  down 
his  paper,  and  hastened  into  the  front-parlour  with  a  look  that 
expressed  anything  but  satisfaction. 

There  was  no  time  for  comment  or  preparation.  The  sound 
was  heard  of  baggage  depositing,  and  in  a  few  moments  Au 
gusta  returned  to  the  parlour,  hanging  lovingly  on  the  arm  of 
a  lady  in  a  very  handsome  travelling  dress,  who  flew  to  Mrs. 
Brantley  and  kissed  her  familiarly,  and  then  shook  hands  with 
her  husband,  and  was  introduced  by  him  to  our  heroine. 

Miss  Frampton  was  a  fashionable-looking  woman,  of  no  par 
ticular  age.  His  figure  was  good,  but  her  features  were  the 
contrary,  and  the  expression  of  her  eye  was  strikingly  bad. 
She  had  no  relations,  but  she  talked  incessantly  of  her  friends 
— for  so  she  called  every  person  whom  she  knew  by  sight, 
provided  always  that  they  were  presentable  people.  She  had 
some  property,  on  the  income  of  which  she  lived,  exercising 
close  economy  in  everything  but  dress.  Sometimes  she  boarded 
out,  and  sometimes  she  billeted  herself  on  one  or  other  of 
these  said  friends,  having  no  scruples  of  delicacy  to  deter  her 
from  eagerly  availing  herself  of  the  slightest  hint  that  might 
be  construed  into  the  semblance  of  an  invitation.  In  short, 
she  was  assiduous  in  trying  to  get  acquainted  with  everybody 


166  LAURA  LOVEL. 

from  whom  anything  was  to  be  gained,  flattering  them  to  their 
faces,  though  she  abused  them  behind  their  backs.  Still, 
strange  to  tell,  she  had  succeeded  in  forcing  her  way  into  the 
outworks  of  what  is  called  society.  She  dressed  well,  pro 
fessed  to  know  everybody,  and  to  go  everywhere,  was  au  fait 
of  all  the  gossip  of  the  day,  and  could  always  furnish  ample 
food  for  the  too  prevailing  appetite  for  scandal.  Therefore, 
though  every  one  disliked  Miss  Frampton,  still  every  one  tole 
rated  her ;  and  though  a  notorious  calumniator,  she  excited 
so  much  fear,  that  it  was  generally  thought  safer  to  keep  up 
some  slight  intercourse  with  her;  than  to  affront  her  by  throw 
ing  her  off  entirely. 

Philadelphia  was  her  usual  place  of  residence ;  but  she  had 
met  the  Brantley  family  at  the  Saratoga  Springs,  had  managed 
to  accompany  them  to  New  York  on  their  way  home,  had 
boarded  at  Bunker's  during  the  week  they  stayed  at  that 
house,  had  assisted  them  in  their  shopping  expeditions,  and 
professed  a  violent  regard  for  Augusta,  who  professed  the  same 
for  her.  Mrs.  Brantley's  slight  intimation  "  that  she  should 
be  glad  to  see  her  if  ever  she  came  to  Boston/'  Miss  Frampton 
had  now  taken  advantage  of,  on  pretext  of  benefiting  by  change 
of  air.  Conscious  of  her  faded  looks,  but  still  hoping  to  pass 
for  a  young  woman,  she  pretended  always  to  be  in  precarious 
health,  though  of  this  there  was  seldom  any  proof  positive. 

On  being  introduced  to  Laura  Lovel,  as  to  a  young  lady  on 
a  visit  to  the  family,  Miss  Frampton,  who  at  once  considered 
her  an  interloper,  surveyed  our  heroine  from  head  to  foot, 
with  something  like  a  sneer,  and  exchanged  significant  glances 
with  Augusta. 

As  soon  as  Miss  Frampton  had  taken  her  seat,  "  My  dear 
Mrs.  Brantley,"  said  she,  "  how  delighted  I  am  to  see  you ! 
And  my  sweet  Augusta,  too  !  Why  she  has  grown  a  perfect 
sylph !" 

After  hearing  this,  Augusta  could  not  keep  her  seat  five 
minutes  together,  but  was  gliding  and  flitting  about  all  the  re 
mainder  of  the  evening,  and  hovering  round  Miss  Frampton' s 
chair. 

Miss  Frampton  continued,  "  Yes,  my  dear  Mrs.  Brantley, 
my  health  has,  as  usual,  been  extremely  delicate.  My  friends 
have  been  seriously  alarmed  for  me,  and  all  my  physicians 
have  been  quite  miserable  on  my  account.  Dr.  Dengue  has 
been  seen  driving  through  the  streets  like  a  madman,  in  his 
haste  to  get  to  me.  Poor  man ! — you  must  have  heard  the 


LAURA  LOVEL.  167 

report  of  his  suffering  Mrs.  Smith's  baby  to  die  with  the  croup, 
from  neglecting  to  visit  it,  which,  if  true,  was  certainly  in  very 
bad  taste.  However,  Dr.  Dengue  is  one  of  my  oldest  friends, 
and  a  most  charming  man." 

"But,  as  I  was  saying,  my  health  still  continued  delicate, 
and  excitement  was  unanimously  recommended  by  the  medical 
gentlemen- — excitement  and  ice-cream.  And  as  soon  as  this 
was  known  in  society,  it  is  incredible  how  many  parties  were 
made  for  me,  and  how  many  excursions  were  planned  on  my 
account.  I  had  carriages  at  my  door  day  and  night.  My 
friends  were  absolutely  dragging  me  from  each  other's  arms. 
Finally  they  all  suggested  entire  change  of  air,  and  total 
change  of  scene.  So  I  consented  to  tear  myself  awhile  from 
my  beloved  Philadelphia,  and  pay  you  my  promised  visit  in 
Boston." 

"  We  are  much  obliged  to  you,"  said  Mrs.  Brantley.  "  And 
really,"  pursued  Miss  Frampton,  "I  had  so  many  engagements 
on  my  hands,  that  I  had  fixed  five  different  days  for  starting, 
and  disappointed  five  different  escorts.  My  receiving-room 
was  like  a  levee  every  morning  at  visiting  hours,  with  young 
gentlemen  of  fashion,  coming  to  press  their  services,  as  is 
always  the  case  when  it  is  reported  in  Philadelphia  that  Miss 
Frampton  has  a  disposition  to  travel.  A  whole  procession  of 
my  friends  accompanied  me  to  the  steamboat,  and  I  believe  I 
had  more  than  a  dozen  elegant  smelling-bottles  presented  to 
me — as  it  is  universally  known  how  much  I  always  suffer  dur 
ing  a  journey,  being  deadly  sick  on  the  water,  and  in  a  constant 
state  of  nervous  agitation  while  riding." 

"  And  who  did  you  come  with  at  last  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Brantley. 

"  Oh  !  with  my  friends  the  Twramberleys,  of  your  city," 
replied  Miss  Frampton.  "The  whole  family  had  been  at 
Washington,  and  as  soon  as  I  heard  they  were  in  Philadelphia 
on  their  return  home,  I  sent  to  inquire — that  is,  or  rather,  I 
mean,  they  sent  to  inquire  as  soon  as  they  came  to  town, 
and  heard  that  I  intended  visiting  Boston — they  sent  to  in 
quire  if  I  would  make  them  happy  by  joining  their  party." 

"Well,"  observed  Mr.  Brantley,  "I  cannot  imagine  how 
you  got  along  with  all  the  Twamberleys.  Mr.  Twamberley, 
besides  being  a  clumsy,  fat  man,  upwards  of  seventy  years  old, 
and  lame  with  the  gout,  and  nearly  quite  deaf,  and  having 
cataracts  coming  on  both  eyes,  is  always  obliged  to  travel  with 
his  silly  young  wife,  and  the  eight  children  of  her  first  hus 
band,  and  I  should  think  he  had  enough  to  do  in  taking  care 
14* 


168  LAURA  LOVEL. 

of  himself  and  them.  I  wonder  you  did  not  prefer  availing 
yourself  of  the  politeness  of  some  of  the  single  gentlemen  you 
mentioned." 

"  Oh  !"  replied  Miss  Frainpton,  "  any  of  them  would  have 
been  too  happy,  as  they  politely  expressed  it,  to  have  had 
the  pleasure  of  waiting  on  me  to  Boston.  Indeed,  I  knew  not 
how  to  make  a  selection,  being  unwilling  to  offend  any  of 
them  by  a  preference.  And  then  again,  it  is  always  in  better 
taste  for  young  ladies  to  travel,  and,  indeed,  to  go  everywhere, 
under  the  wing  of  a  married  woman.  I  dote  upon  chaperones ; 
and  by  coming  with  this  family,  I  had  Mrs.  Twamberley  to 
matronize  me.  I  have  just  parted  with  them  all  at  their  own 
door,  where  they  were  set  down." 

Mr.  Brantley  smiled  when  he  thought  of  Mrs.  Twamberley 
(who  had  been  married  to  her  first  husband  at  fifteen,  and  was 
still  a  blooming  girlish  looking  woman)  matronizing  the  faded 
Miss  Frampton,  so  evidently  by  many  years  her  senior. 

Laura  Lovel,  though  new  to  the  world,  had  sufficient  good 
sense  and  penetration  to  perceive  almost  immediately,  that 
Miss  Frampton  was  a  woman  of  much  vanity  and  pretension, 
and  that  she  was  in  the  habit  of  talking  with  great  exaggera 
tion  ;  and  in  a  short  time  she  more  than  suspected  that  many 
of  her  assertions  were  arrant  falsehoods — a  fact  that  was  well 
known  to  all  those  numerous  persons  that  Miss  Frampton 
called  her  friends. 

Tea  was  now  brought  in,  and  Miss  Frampton  took  occasion 
to  relate  in  what  manner  she  had  discovered  that  the  famous 
silver  urn  of  that  charming  family,  the  Sam  Kettlethorps,  was, 
in  reality,  only  plated — that  her  particular  favourites,  the  Joe 
Sowerbys,  showed  such  bad  taste  at  their  great  terrapin  supper, 
as  to  have  green  hock-glasses  for  the  champagne ;  and  that 
those  delightful  people,  the  Bob  Skutterbys,  the  first  time  they 
attempted  the  new  style  of  heaters  at  a  venison  dinner,  had 
them  filled  with  spirits  of  turpentine,  instead  of  spirits  of 
wine. 

Next  morning,  Miss  Frampton  did  not  appear  at  the  break 
fast-table,  but  had  her  first  meal  carried  into  her  room,  and 
Augusta  breakfasted  with  her.  Between  them  Laura  Lovel 
was  discussed  at  full  length,  and  their  conclusion  was,  that 
she  had  not  a  single  good  feature — that  her  complexion  was 
nothing,  her  figure  nothing,  and  her  dress  worse  than  nothing. 

"I  don't  suppose,"  said  Augusta,  "that  her  father  has  given 
her  much  money  to  bring  to  town  with  her." 


LAURA   LOVEL.  169 

"  To  be  sure  he  has  not/'  replied  Miss  Frampton,  "  if  he  is 
only  a  poor  country  clergyman.  I  think  it  was  in  very  bad 
taste  for  him  to  let  her  come  at  all." 

"Well,"  said  Augusta,  "we  must  take  her  a  shopping  this 
morning,  and  try  to  get  her  fitted  out,  so  as  to  make  a  decent 
appearance  at  Nahant,  as  we  are  going  thither  in  a  few  days." 

"Then  I  have  come  just  in  the  right  time,"  said  Miss 
Frampton.  "Nahant  is  the  very  place  I  wish  to  visit — my 
sweet  friend  Mrs.  Dick  Pewsey  has  given  me  such  an  account 
of  it.  She  says  there  is  considerable  style  there.  She  passed 
a  week  at  Nahant  when  she  came  to  Boston  last  summer." 

"  Oh !  I  remember  her,"  cried  Augusta.  "  She  was  a 
mountain  of  blonde  lace." 

"Yes,"  observed  Miss  Frampton,  "and  not  an  inch  of  that 
blonde  has  yet  been  paid  for,  or  ever  will  be ;  I  know  it  from 
good  authority." 

They  went  shopping,  and  Augusta  took  them  to  the  most 
fashionable  store  in  Washington  street,  where  Laura  was  sur 
prised  and  confused  at  the  sight  of  the  various  beautiful  ar 
ticles  shown  to  them.  Even  their  names  perplexed  her.  She 
knew  very  well  what  gros  de  Naples  was  (or  gro  de  nap,  as  it 
is  commonly  called),  but  she  was  at  a  loss  to  distinguish  gros 
de  Berlin,  gros  de  Suisse,  gros  des  Indes,  and  all  the  other 
gros.  Augusta,  however,  was  au  fait  of  the  whole,  and  talked 
and  flitted,  and  glided ;  producing,  as  she  supposed,  great  effect 
among  the  young  salesmen  at  the  counters.  Miss  Frampton 
examined  everything  with  a  scrutinizing  eye,  undervalued  them 
all,  and  took  frequent  occasions  to  say  that  they  were  far  in 
ferior  to  similar  articles  in  Philadelphia. 

At  length,  a  very  light-coloured  figured  silk,  with  a  very 
new  name,  was  selected  for  Laura.  The  price  appeared  to  her 
extremely  high,  and  when  she  heard  the  number  of  yards  that 
were  considered  necessary,  she  faintly  asked  "if  less  would 
not  do."  Miss  Frampton  sneered,  and  Augusta  laughed  out, 
saying,  "Don't  you  see  that  the  silk  is  very  narrow,  and  that 
it  has  a  wrong  side  and  a  right  side,  and  that  the  flowers  have 
a  top  and  a  bottom  ?  So  as  it  cannot  be  turned  every  way,  a 
larger  quantity  will  be  required." 

"Had  I  not  better  choose  a  plain  silk,"  said  Laura,  "one 
that  is  wider,  and  that  can  be  turned  any  way  ?" 

"  Oh !  plain  silks  are  so  common,"  replied  Augusta ; 
"  though,  for  a  change,  they  are  well  enough.  I  have  four. 
But  this  will  be  best  for  Nahant.  We  always  dress  to  go 


170  LAURA   LOVEL. 

there ;  and,  of  course,  we  expect  all  of  our  party  to  do  the 
same." 

"But  really  this  silk  is  so  expensive/'  whispered  Laura. 

"Let  the  dress  be  cut  off/'  said  Miss  Frampton,  in  a 
peremptory  tone.  "I  am  tired  of  so  much  hesitation.  Tis 
in  very  had  taste." 

The  dress  ivas  cut  off,  and  Laura,  on  calculating  the  amount, 
found  that  it  would  make  a  sad  inroad  on  her  little  modicum. 
Being  told  that  she  must  have  also  a  new  printed  muslin, 
one  was  chosen  for  her  with  a  beautiful  sky  blue  for  the  pre 
dominant  colour,  and  Laura  found  that  this  also  was  a  very 
costly  dress.  She  was  next  informed  that  she  could  not  be 
presentable  without  a  French  pelerine  of  embroidered  muslin. 

Pelerines  in  great  variety  were  then  produced,  and  Laura 
found,  to  her  dismay,  that  the  prices  were  from  ten  to  twenty- 
five  dollars.  She  declined  taking  one,  and  Miss  Frampton 
and  Augusta  exchanged  looks  which  said,  as  plainly  as  looks 
could  speak,  "I  suppose  she  has  not  money  enough." 

Laura  coloured — hesitated — at  last  false  pride  got  the  better 
of  her  scruples.  The  salesman  commended  the  beauty  of  the 
pelerines ;  particularly  of  one  tied  up  in  the  front,  and  orna 
mented  on  the  shoulders,  with  bows  of  blue  riband — and  our 
heroine  yielded,  and  took  it  at  fifteen  dollars  j  those  at  ten 
dollars  being  voted  by  Miss  Frampton  "absolutely  mean." 

After  this,  Laura  was  induced  to  supply  herself  with  silk 
stockings  and  white  kid  gloves,  "of  a  new  style,"  and  was  also 
persuaded  to  give  five  dollars  for  a  small  scarf,  also  of  a  new 
style.  And  when  all  these  purchases  were  made,  she  found 
that  three  quarters  of  a  dollar  were  all  that  remained  in  her 
purse.  Augusta  also  bought  several  new  articles ;  but  Miss 
Frampton  got  nothing.  However,  she  insisted  afterwards  on 
going  into  every  fancy  store  in  Washington  street — not  to 
buy,  but  "  to  see  what  they  had" :  and  gave  much  trouble  in 
causing  the  salesmen  needlessly  to  display  their  goods  to  her, 
and  some  offence  by  making  invidious  comparisons  between 
their  merchandise  and  that  of  Philadelphia.  By  the  time  all 
this  shopping  was  over,  the  clock  of  the  Old  South  had  struck 
two,  and  it  was  found  expedient  to  postpone  till  next  day  the 
intended  visit  to  the  milliner  and  mantuamaker,  Miss  Framp 
ton  and  Augusta  declaring  that,  of  afternoons,  they  were  never 
fit  for  anything  but  to  throw  themselves  on  the  bed  and  go  to 
sleep.  Laura  Lovel,  fatigued  both  in  body  and  mind,  and 
feeling  much  dissatisfied  with  herself,  was  glad  of  a  respite 


LAURA  LOVEL.  171 

from  the  pursuit  of  finery,  though  it  was  only  till  next  morn 
ing;  and  she  was  almost  "at  her  wit's  end"  to  know  in  what 
way  she  was  to  pay  for  having  her  dress  made — much  less  for 
the  fashionable  new  bonnet  which  her  companions  insisted  on 
her  getting — Augusta  giving  more  than  hints,  that  if  she  went 
with  the  family  to  Nahant,  they  should  expect  her  "to  look 
like  other  people;"  and  Miss  Frampton  signifying  in  loud 
whispers,  that  "  those  who  were  unable  to  make  an  appearance, 
had  always  better  stay  at  home." 

In  the  evening  there  were  some  visitors,  none  of  whom  were 
very  entertaining  or  agreeable,  though  all  the  ladies  were 
excessively  dressed.  Laura  was  reminded  of  the  homely  pro 
verb,  "  Birds  of  a  feather  flock  together."  The  chief  enter 
tainment  was  listening  to  Augusta's  music,  who  considered 
herself  to  play  and  sing  with  wonderful  execution.  But  to 
the  unpractised  ears  and  eyes  of  our  heroine,  it  seemed  nothing 
more  than  an  alternate  succession  of  high  shrieks  and  low 
murmurs,  accompanied  by  various  contortions  of  the  face, 
sundry  bowings  and  wavings  of  the  body,  great  elevation  of 
the  shoulders  and  squaring  of  the  elbows,  and  incessant  qui 
vering  of  the  fingers,  and  throwing  back  of  the  hands.  Miss 
Frampton  talked  all  the  while  in  a  low  voice  to  a  lady  that  sat 
next  to  her,  and  turned  round  at  intervals  to  assure  Augusta 
that  her  singing  was  divine,  and  that  she  reminded  her  of 
Madame  Feron. 

Augusta  had  just  finished  a  very  great  song,  and  was  turn 
ing  over  her  music-books  in  search  of  another,  when  a  slight 
ring  was  heard  at  the  street  door,  and  as  William  opened  it, 
a  weak,  hesitating  voice  inquired  for  Miss  Laura  Lovel,  adding, 
"I  hope  to  be  excused.  I  know  I  ought  not  to  make  so  free; 
but  I  heard  this  afternoon  that  Miss  Laura,  eldest  daughter 
of  the  Reverend  Edward  Lovel  of  Ilosebrook,  Massachusetts, 
is  now  in  this  house,  and  I  have  walked  five  miles  into  town, 
for  the  purpose  of  seeing  the  young  lady.  However,  I  ought 
not  to  consider  the  walk  as  anything,  and  it  was  improper  in 
me  to  speak  of  it  at  all.  The  young  lady  is  an  old  friend  of 
mine,  if  I  may  be  so  bold  as  to  say  so." 

"  There's  company  in  the  parlour,"  said  William,  in  a  tone 
not  over  respectful ;  "  very  particular  company." 

"I  won't  meddle  with  any  of  the  company,"  proceeded  the 
voice.  "  I  am  very  careful  never  to  make  myself  disagreeable. 
But  I  just  wish  (if  I  ana  not  taking  too  great  a  liberty)  to  see 
Miss  Laura  Lovel." 


172  LAURA   LOVEL. 

"  Shall  I  call  her  out,"  said  William. 

"  I  would  not  for  the  world  give  her  the  trouble,"  replied 
the  stranger.  "It  is  certainly  my  place  to  go  to  the  young 
lady,  and  not  hers  to  come  to  me.  I  always  try  to  be  polite. 
I  hope  you  don't  find  me  unpleasant." 

"  Miss  Level,"  said  Miss  Frampton,  sneeringly,  "  this  must 
certainly  be  your  beau." 

The  parlour-door  being  open,  the  whole  of  the  preceding 
dialogue  had  been  heard  by  the  company,  and  Miss  Frampton, 
from  the  place  in  .which  she  sat,  had  a  view  of  the  stranger,  as 
he  stood  in  the  entry. 

William,  then,  with  an  unsuppressed  grin,  ushered  into  the 
room  a  little,  thin,  weak-looking  man,  who  had  a  whitish  face, 
and  dead  light  hair,  cut  straight  across  his  forehead.  His 
dress  was  scrupulously  neat,  but  very  unfashionable.  He 
wore  a  full  suit  of  yellowish  brown  cloth,  with  all  the  gloss 
on.  His  legs  were  covered  with  smooth  cotton  stockings,  and 
he  had  little  silver  knee-buckles.  His  shirt  collar  and  cravat 
were  stiff  and  blue,  the  latter  being  tied  in  front  with  very 
long  ends,  and  in  his  hand  he  held  a  blue  bandanna  handker 
chief,  carefully  folded  up.  His  whole  deportment  was  stiff 
and  awkward. 

On  entering  the  room,  he  bowed  very  low  with  a  peculiar 
jerk  of  the  head,  and  his  whole  appearance  and  manner 
denoted  the  very  acme  of  humility.  The  company  regarded 
him  with  amazement,  and  Miss  Frampton  began  to  whisper, 
keeping  her  eye  fixed  on  him  all  the  time.  Laura  started  from 
her  chair,  hastened  to  him,  and  holding  out  her  hand,  addressed 
him  by  the  name  of  Pyam  Dodge.  He  took  the  proffered 
hand,  after  a  moment  of  hesitation,  and  said,  "  I  hope  I  am 
properly  sensible  of  your  kindness,  Miss  Laura  Level,  in  allow 
ing  me  to  take  your  hand,  now  that  you  are  grown.  Many  a 
time  have  I  led  you  to  my  school,  when  I  boarded  at  your 
respected  father's,  who  I  trust  is  well.  But  now  I  would  not, 
on  any  account,  be  too  familiar." 

(Laura  pointed  to  a  chair.) 

"  But  which  is  the  mistress  of  the  house  ?  I  know  perfectly 
well  that  it  is  proper  for  me  to  pay  my  respects  to  her,  before 
I  take  the  liberty  of  sitting  down  under  her  roof.  If  I  may 
presume  to  say  that  I  understand  anything  thoroughly,  it  is 
certainly  good  manners.  In  my  school,  manners  were  always 
perfectly  well  taught — my  own  manners,  I  learned  chiefly  from 


LAURA  LOVEL.  173 

my  revered   uncle,   Deacon  Ironskirt,   formerly  of  Wicketi- 
quock,  but  now  of  Popsquash." 

Laura  then  introduced  Pyam  Dodge  to  the  lady  of  the 
house,  who  received  him  civilly,  and  then  to  Mr.  Brantley, 
who,  perceiving  that  the  poor  schoolmaster  was  what  is  called 
a  character,  found  his  curiosity  excited  to  know  what  he  would 
do  next. 

This  ceremony  over,  Pyam  Dodge  bowed  round  to  each  of 
the  company  separately.  Laura  saw  at  once  that  he  was  an 
object  of  ridicule ;  and  his  entire  want  of  tact,  and  his  pitiable 
simplicity,  had  never  before  struck  her  so  forcibly.  She  was 
glad  when,  at  last,  he  took  a  seat  beside  her,  and,  in  a  low 
voice,  she  endeavoured  to  engage  him  in  a  conversation  that 
should  prevent  him  from  talking  to  any  one  else.  She  found 
that  he  was  master  of  a  district  school  about  five  miles  from 
Boston,  and  that  he  was  perfectly  contented — for  more  than 
that  he  had  never  aspired  to  be. 

But  vain  were  the  efforts  of  our  heroine  to  keep  Pyam 
Dodge  to  herself,  and  to  prevent  him  from  manifesting  his 
peculiarities  to  the  rest  of  the  company.  Perceiving  that 
Augusta  had  turned  round  on  her  music-stool  to  listen  and 
to  look  at  him,  the  schoolmaster  rose  on  his  feet,  and  bowing 
first  to  the  young  lady,  and  then  to  her  mother,  he  said : 
"  Madam,  I  am  afraid  that  I  have  disturbed  the  child  while 
striking  on  her  pyano-forty.  I  would  on  no  account  cause 
any  interruption — for  that  might  be  making  myself  disagree 
able.  On  the  contrary,  it  would  give  me  satisfaction  for  the 
child  to  continue  her  exercise,  and  I  shall  esteem  it  a  privilege 
to  hear  how  she  plays  her  music,  I  have  taught  singing 
myself/1 

Augusta  then,  by  desire  of  her  mother,  commenced  a  new 
bravura,  which  ran  somehow  thus  : — 

Oh  !  drop  a  tear,  a  tender  tear — oh !  drop  a  tear,  a  tender, 
tender  tear.  Oh  !  drop,  oh  !  drop,  oh  !  dro-o-op  a  te-en-der 
te-c-ear — a  tender  tear — a  tear  for  me — a  tear  for  me;  a 
tender  tear  for  me. 

When  I,  when  I,  when  I-I-I  am  wand'ring,  wand'ring, 
wand'ring,  wand'ring  far;  far  from  thee — fa-a-ar;  far,  far,  far 
from  thee — from  thee. 

For  sadness  in — for  sadness  in,  my  heart,  my  heart  shall 
reign — shall  re-e-e-ign — my  hee-e-art — for  sa-a-aduess  in  my 
heart  shall  reign — shall  reign. 

Until — until — unti-i-il  we  fondly,  fondly  meet  again;  we 


174  LAURA  LOVEL. 

fondly  meet,  we  fo-o-ondly  me-e-et — until  we  fondly,  fondly, 
fondly  meet — meet,  meet,  meet  again — we  meet  again. 

This  song  (in  which  the  silliness  of  the  words  was  increased 
tenfold  by  the  incessant  repetition  of  them),  after  various 
alternations  of  high  and  low,  fast  and  slow,  finished  in  thunder, 
Augusta  striking  the  concluding  notes  with  an  energy  that 
made  the  piano  tremble. 

When  the  bravura  was  over,  Pyam  Dodge,  who  had  stood  lis 
tening  in  amazement,  looked  at  Mrs.  Brautley,  and  said  : 
f(  Madam,  your  child  must  doubtless  sing  that  song  very  well 
when  she  gets  the  right  tune." 

"  The  right  tune  !"  interrupted  Augusta,  indignantly. 

"  The  right  tune  !"  echoed  Mrs.  Brantley  and  Miss  Framp- 
ton. 

"  Yes,"  said  Pyam  Dodge,  solemnly — "  and  the  right  words 
also.  For  what  I  have  just  heard  is,  of  course,  neither  the 
regular  tune  nor  the  proper  words,  as  they  seem  to  go  every 
how — therefore  I  conclude  that  all  this  wandering  and  confu 
sion  was  caused  by  the  presence  of  strangers :  myself,  in  all 
probability,  being  the  greatest  stranger,  if  I  may  be  so  bold 
as  to  say  so.  This  is  doubtless  the  reason  why  she  mixed  up 
the  words  at  random,  and  repeated  the  same  so  often,  and  why 
her  actions  at  the  pyano-forty  are  so  strange.  I  trust  that  at 
other  times  she  plays  and  sings  so  as  to  give  the  proper 
sense." 

Augusta  violently  shut  down  the  lid  of  the  piano,  and  gave 
her  father  a  look  that  implied  :  "Won't  you  turn  him  out  of 
the  house?"  But  Mr.  Brantley  was  much  diverted,  and 
laughed  audibly. 

Pyam  Dodge  surveyed  himself  from  head  to  foot,  ascer 
tained  that  his  knee-buckles  were  fast,  and  his  cravat  not 
untied,  and,  finding  all  his  clothes  in  complete  order,  he  said, 
looking  round  to  the  company :  t(  I  hope  there  is  nothing 
ridiculous  about  me.  It  is  my  endeavour  to  appear  as  well 
as  possible ;  but  the  race  is  not  always  to  the  swift,  nor  the 
battle  to  the  strong." 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  Miss  Frampton,  leaning  across  the 
centre-table  to  Mrs.  Brantley,  "  your  protegee  seems  to  have 
a  strange  taste  in  her  acquaintances.  However,  that  is  always 
the  case  with  people  who  have  never  been  in  society,  as  my 
friend  Mrs.  Tom  Spradlington  justly  remarks." 

A  waiter  with  refreshments  was  now  brought  in,  and  handed 
round  to  the  con  pany.  When  it  came  to  Pyam  Dodge,  he 


LAURA  LOVEL.  175 

rose  on  his  feet,  and  thanked  the  man  for  handing  it  to  him; 
then,  taking  the  smallest  possible  quantity  of  each  of  the 
different  articles,  he  put  all  on  the  same  plate,  and,  unfolding 
his  blue  bandanna,  he  spread  it  carefully  and  smoothly  over 
his  knees,  and  commenced  eating  with  the  smallest  possible 
mouthfuls,  praising  everything  as  he  tasted  it.  The  wine 
being  offered  to  him,  he  respectfully  declined  it,  signifying 
that  he  belonged  to  the  Temperance  Society.  But  he  after 
wards  took  a  glass  of  lemonade,  on  being  assured  that  it  was 
not  punch,  and  again  rising  on  his  feet,  he  drank  the  health 
of  each  of  the  company  separately,  and  not  knowing  their 
names,  he  designated  them  as  the  lady  in  the  blue  gown,  the 
lady  in  the  white  gown,  the  gentleman  in  the  black  coat,  &c. 

This  ceremony  over,  Pyam  Dodge  took  out  an  old-fashioned 
silver  watch,  of  a  shape  almost  globular,  and  looking  at  the 
hour,  he  made  many  apologies  for  going  away  so  soon,  having 
five  miles  to  walk,  and  requested  that  his  departure  might  not 
break  up  the  company.  He  then  bowed  all  round  again — 
told  Laura  he  would  thank  her  for  her  hand,  which,  on  her 
giving  him,  he  shook  high  and  awkwardly,  walked  backwards 
to  the  door  and  ran  against  it,  trusted  he  had  made  himself 
agreeable,  and  at  last  departed. 

The  front-door  had  scarcely  closed  after  him,  when  a  general 
laugh  took  place,  which  even  Laura  could  scarcely  refrain  from 
joining  in. 

"  Upon  my  word,  Miss  Lovel,"  said  Augusta,  "  this  friend 
of  yours  is  the  most  peculiar  person  I  ever  beheld." 

"  I  never  saw  a  man  in  worse  taste,"  remarked  Miss 
Frampton. 

In  a  moment  another  ring  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  on  its 
being  opened,  Pyam  Dodge  again  made  his  appearance  in  the 
parlour,  to  beg  pardon  of  the  lady  of  the  house,  for  not  having 
returned  thanks  for  his  entertainment,  and  also  to  the  youmj 
lady  for  her  music,  which,  he  said,  "  was  doubtless  well  meant." 
He  then  repeated  his  bows  and  withdrew. 

u  What  an  intolerable  fool  I"  exclaimed  Augusta. 

"  Indeed,"  replied  Laura  Lovel,  "  he  is,  after  all,  not  defi 
cient  in  understanding,  though  his  total  want  of  tact,  and  his 
entire  ignorance  of  the  customs  of  the  world,  give  an  absurd 
ity  to  his  manner,  which  I  confess  it  is  difficult  to  witness 
without  a  smile.  I  have  heard  my  father  say  that  Pyam 
Dodge  is  one  of  the  best  classical  scholars  he  ever  knew,  and 

15 


176  LAURA   LOVEL. 

he  is  certainly  a  man  of  good  feelings,  and  of  irreproachable 
character." 

"I  never  knew  a  bore  that  was  not,"  remarked  Miss 
Frampton. 

There  was  again  a  ring  at  the  door,  and  again  Pyam  Dodge 
was  ushered  in.  His  business  now  was  to  inform  Miss  Laura 
Lovel,  that  if  she  did  not  see  him  every  day  during  her 
residence  in  Boston,  she  must  not  impute  the  infrequency  of 
his  visits  to  any  disrespect  on  his  part,  but  rather  to  his  close 
confinement  to  the  duties  of  his  school — besides  which,  his 
leisure  time  was  much  occupied  in  studying  Arabic ;  but  he 
hoped  to  make  his  arrangements,  so  as  to  be  able  to  come 
to  town  and  spend  at  least  three  evenings  with  her  every 
week. 

At  this  intimation  there  were  such  evident  tokens  of  disap 
proval,  on  the  part  of  the  Brantley  family  and  Miss  Framp 
ton,  and  of  embarrassment  on  that  of  Laura,  that  poor  Pyam 
Dodge,  obtuse  as  he  was  to  the  things  of  this  world,  saw  that 
the  announcement  of  his  visits  was  not  perfectly  well  received. 
He  looked  amazed  at  this  discovery,  but  bowed  lower  than 
ever,  hoped  he  was  not  disgusting,  and  again  retreated. 

Once  more  was  heard  at  the  door  the  faint  ring  that  announced 
the  schoolmaster.  "  Assuredly/'  observed  a  gentleman  present, 
"  this  must  be  the  original  Return  Strong/' 

This  time,  however,  poor  Pyam  Dodge  did  not  venture  into 
the  parlour,  but  was  heard  meekly  to  inquire  of  the  servant, 
if  he  had  not  dropped  his  handkerchief  in  the  hall.  The 
handkerchief  was  picked  up,  and  he  finally  departed,  humbly 
hoping  ll  that  the  gentleman  attending  the  door,  had  not  found 
him  troublesome."  The  moment  he  was  gone,  the  gentleman 
that  attended  the  door  was  heard  audibly  to  put  down  the 
dead-latch. 

Next  day  Augusta  Brantley  gave  a  standing  order  to  the 
servants,  that  whenever  Miss  Level's  schoolmaster  came,  he 
was  to  be  told  that  the  whole  family  were  out  of  town. 

In  the  morning,  Laura  was  conveyed  by  Augusta  and  Miss 
Frampton  to  the  mantuamaker's,  and  Miss  Boxpleat  demurred 
a  long  time  about  undertaking  the  two  dresses,  and  longer 
still  about  finishing  them  that  week,  in  consequence  of  the 
vast  quantity  of  work  she  had  now  on  hand.  Finally  she  con 
sented,  assuring  Laura  Lovel  that  she  only  did  so  to  oblige 
Miss  Brantley. 

Laura  then  asked  what  would  be  her  charge  for  making  the 


LAURA   LOVEL.  177 


dresses.  Miss  Boxpleat  reddened,  and  vouchsafed  no  reply ; 
Miss  Frampton  laughed  out,  and  Augusta  twitched  Laura's 
sleeve,  who  wondered  what  faux  pas  she  had  committed,  till 
she  learned  in  a  whisper,  that  it  was  an  affront  to  the  dress 
maker  to  attempt  to  bargain  with  her  beforehand,  and  our 
heroine,  much  disconcerted,  passively  allowed  herself  to  be 
fitted  for  the  dresses. 

Laura  had  a  very  pretty  bonnet  of  the  finest  and  whitest 
split  straw,  modestly  trimmed  with  white  lutestring  riband ; 
but  her  companions  told  her  that  there  was  no  existing  with 
out  a  dress-hat,  and  she  was  accordingly  carried  to  Miss 
Pipingcord's.  Here  they  found  that  all  the  handsomest 
articles  of  this  description  were  already  engaged,  but  they 
made  her  bespeak  one  of  a  very  expensive  silk,  trimmed  with 
flowers  and  gauze  riband,  and  when  she  objected  to  the  front, 
as  exposing  her  whole  face  to  the  summer  sun,  she  was  told 
that  of  course  she  must  have  a  blonde  gauze  veil.  "  We  will 
gtop  at  Whitaker's,"  said  Augusta,  t(  and  see  his  assortment, 
and  you  can  make  the  purchase  at  once."  Laura  knew  that 
she  could  not,  and  steadily  persisted  in  her  refusal,  saying  that 
she  must  depend  on  her  parasol  for  screening  her  face. 

Several  other  superfluities  were  pressed  upon  our  poor 
heroine,  as  they  proceeded  along  Washington  street ;  Augusta 
really  thinking  it  indispensable  that  Laura  should  be  fashion 
ably  and  expensively  dressed,  and  Miss  Frampton  feeling  a 
malignant  pleasure  in  observing  how  much  these  importunities 
confused  and  distressed  her. 

Laura  sat  down  to  dinner  with  an  aching  head,  and  no 
appetite,  and  afterwards  retired  to  her  room,  and  endeavoured 
to  allay  her  uneasiness  with  a  book. 

"  So/'  said  Miss  Frampton  to  Mrs.  Brantley,  "  this  is  the 
girl  that  dear  Augusta  tells  me  you  think  of  inviting  to  pass 
the  winter  with  you." 

"  Why,  is  she  not  very  pretty  ?"  replied  Mrs.  Brantley. 

"Not  in  my  eye,"  answered  Miss  Frampton.  "Wait  but 
two  years,  till  my  sweet  Augusta  is  old  enough  and  tall  enough 
to  come  out,  and  you  will  have  no  occasion  to  invite  beauties, 
for  the  purpose  of  drawing  company  to  your  house — for,  of 
course,  I  cannot  but  understand  the  motive  j  and  pray,  how 
can  the  father  of  this  girl  enable  her  to  make  a  proper  appear 
ance  ?  When  she  has  got  through  the  two  new  dresses  that 
we  had  so  much  difficulty  in  persuading  her  to  venture  upon, 
is  she  to  return  to  her  black  rnarcelline  ? — You  certainly  do 


178  LAURA   LOVEL. 

not  intend  to  wrong  your  own  child  by  going  to  tlie  expense 
of  dressing  out  this  parson's  daughter  yourself.  And,  after 
all,  these  green  young  girls  do  not  draw  company  half  so  well 
as  ladies  a  few  years  older — decided  women  of  ton,  who  are 
familiar  with  the  whole  routine  of  society,  and  have  the  veri 
table  air  distingue.  One  of  that  description  would  do  more 
for  your  soirees,  next  winter,  than  twenty  of  these  village 
beauties." 

Next  day  our  heroine's  new  bonnet  came  home,  accompanied 
by  a  bill  of  twelve  dollars.  She  had  supposed  that  the  price 
would  not  exceed  seven  or  eight.  She  had  not  the  money, 
and  her  embarrassment  was  increased  by  Miss  Frampton's 
examining  the  bill,  and  reminding  her  that  there  was  a  receipt 
to  it.  Laura's  confusion  was  so  palpable,  that  Mrs.  Brantley 
felt  some  compassion  for  her,  and  said  to  the  milliner's  girl, 
"The  young  lady  will  call  at  Miss  Pipingcord's,  and  pay  for 
her  hat."  And  the  girl  departed,  first  asking  to  have  the  bill 
returned  to  her,  as  it  was  receipted. 

When  our  heroine  and  her  companions  were  out  next  morn 
ing,  they  passed  by  the  milliner's,  and  Laura  instinctively 
turned  away  her  head.  "  You  can  now  call  at  Miss  Piping- 
cord's  and  pay  her  bill,"  said  Miss  Frampton.  "It  is  here 
that  she  lives — don't  you  see  her  name  on  the  door  ?" 

"  I  have  not  the  money  about  me,"  said  Laura,  in  a  falter 
ing  voice — "  I  have  left  my  purse  at  home."  This  was  her 
first  attempt  at  a  subterfuge,  and  conscience-struck,  she  could 
not  say  another  word  during  the  walk. 

On  the  last  day  of  the  week,  her  dresses  were  sent  home, 
with  a  bill  of  eleven  dollars  for  making  the  tAvo,  not 
including  what  are  called  the  trimmings,  all  of  which  were 
charged  at  about  four  times  their  real  cost.  Laura  was  more 
confounded  than  ever.  Neither  Mrs.  Brantley  nor  Augusta 
happened  to  be  present,  but  Miss  Frampton  was,  and  under 
stood  it  all.  "  Can't  you  tell  the  girl  you  will  call  and  settle 
Miss  Boxpleat's  bill  ?"  said  she.  "  Don't  look  so  confused" — 
adding  in  a  somewhat  lower  voice,  "  she  will  suspect  you  have 
no  money  to  pay  with — really,  your  behaviour  is  in  very  bad 
taste." 

Laura's  lip  quivered,  and  her  cheek  grew  pale.  Miss 
Frampton  could  scarcely  help  laughing,  to  see  her  so  new  to 
the  world,  and  at  last  deigned  to  relieve  her  by  telling  Miss 
Boxpleat's  girl  that  Miss  Lovel  would  call  and  settle  the  bill. 

The  girl  was  scarcely  out  of  the  room,  when  poor  Laura, 


LAURA   LOVEL.  179 

unable  to  restrain  herself  another  moment,  hid  her  face 
against  one  of  the  cushions  of  the  ottoman,  and  burst  into 
tears.  The  flinty  heart  of  Miss  Frampton  underwent  a  mo 
mentary  softening.  She  looked  awhile  in  silence  at  Laura, 
and  then  said  to  her,  "  Why,  you  seem  to  take  this  very  much 
to  heart/' 

"  No  wonder,"  replied  Laura,  sobbing — "  I  have  expended 
all  my  money ;  all  that  my  father  gave  me  at  my  departure 
from  home.  At  least  I  have  only  the  merest  trifle  left ;  and 
how  am  I  to  pay  either  the  milliner's  bill,  or  the  mantua- 
maker's  ?" 

Miss  Frampton  deliberated  for  a  few  moments,  walked  to 
the  window,  and  stood  there  awhile — then  approached  the  still 
weeping  Laura,  and  said  to  her,  "  What  would  you  say  if  a 
friend  was  to  come  forward  to  relieve  you  from  this  embarrass 
ment  ?" 

"  I  have  no  friend,"  replied  Laura,  in  a  half-choked  voice — 
"  at  least  none  here.  Oh  !  how  I  wish  that  I  had  never  left 
home !" 

Miss  Frampton  paused  again,  and  finally  offered  Laura  the 
loan  of  twenty -five  dollars,  till  she  could  get  money  from  her 
father.  "I  know  not,"  said  Laura,  "how  I  can  ask  my 
father  so  soon  for  any  more  money.  I  am  convinced  that  he 
gave  me  all  he  could  possibly  spare.  I  have  done  very  wrong 
in  allowing  myself  to  incur  expenses  which  I  am  unable  to 
meet.  I  can  never  forgive  myself.  Oh !  how  miserable  I 
am  !"  And  she  again  covered  her  face  and  cried  bitterly. 

Miss  Frampton  hesitated — but  she  had  heard  Mr.  Brantley 
speak  of  Mr.  Lovel  as  a  man  of  the  strictest  integrity,  and  she 
was  certain  that  he  would  strain  every  nerve,  and  redouble  the 
economy  of  his  family  expenditure,  rather  than  allow  his 
daughter  to  remain  long  under  pecuniary  obligations  to  a 
stranger.  She  felt  that  she  ran  no  risk  in  taking  from  her 
pocket-book  notes  to  the  amount  of  twenty-five  dollars,  and 
putting  them  into  the  hands  of  Laura,  who  had  thought  at  one 
time  of  applying  to  Mr.  Brantley  for  the  loan  of  a  sufficient 
sum  to  help  her  out  of  her  present  difficulties,  but  was  deterred 
by  a  feeling  of  invincible  repugnance  to  taxing  any  farther  the 
kindness  of  her  host,  conceiving  herself  already  under  sufficient 
obligations  to  him  as  his  guest,  and  a  partaker  of  his  hospi 
tality.  However,  had  she  known  more  of  the  world  and  had 
a  greater  insight  into  the  varieties  of  the  human  character,  she 
would  have  infinitely  preferred  throwing  herself  on  the  gene- 
15* 


180  LAURA   LOVEL. 

rosity  of  Mr.  Brantley,  to  becoming  the  debtor  of  Miss  Framp- 
ton.  As  it  was,  she  gratefully  accepted  the  proffered  kind 
ness  of  that  lady,  feeling  it  a  respite.  Drying  her  tears,  she 
immediately  equipped  herself  for  walking,  hastened  both  to 
the  milliner  and  the  mantuamaker,  and  paying  their  bills,  she 
returned  home  with  a  lightened  heart. 

Laura  Lovel  had  already  begun  to  find  her  visit  to  the 
Brantley  family  less  agreeable  than  she  had  anticipated.  They 
had  nothing  in  common  with  herself;  their  conversation  was 
neither  edifying  nor  entertaining.  They  had  few  books,  except 
the  Annuals ;  and  though  she  passed  the  Circulating  Libraries 
with  longing  eyes,  she  did  not  consider  that  she  was  sufficiently 
in  funds  to  avail  herself  of  their  contents.  No  opportunities 
were  offered  her  of  seeing  any  of  the  shows  of  the  city,  and  of 
those  that  casually  fell  in  her  way,  she  found  her  companions 
generally  more  ignorant  than  herself.  They  did  not  conceive 
that  a  stranger  could  be  amused  or  interested  with  things  that, 
having  always  been  within  their  own  reach,  had  failed  to 
awaken  in  them  the  slightest  curiosity.  Mr.  Brantley  was 
infinitely  the  best  of  the  family;  but  he  was  immersed  in 
business  all  day,  and  in  the  newspapers  all  the  evening.  Mrs. 
Brantley  was  nothing,  and  Augusta's  petulance  and  heartless- 
ness,  and  Miss  Frampton's  impertinence  (which  somewhat 
increased  after  she  lent  the  money  to  Laura),  were  equally 
annoying.  The  visiters  of  the  family  were  nearly  of  the  same 
stamp  as  its  members. 

Laura,  however,  had  looked  forward  with  much  anticipated 
pleasure  to  the  long-talked-of  visit  to  the  sea-shore ;  and  in  the 
mean  time  her  chief  enjoyment  was  derived  from  the  afternoon 
rides  that  were  occasionally  taken  in  Mr.  Brantley' s  carriage, 
and  which  gave  our  heroine  an  opportunity  of  seeing  some 
thing  of  the  beautiful  environs  of  Boston. 

Miss  Frampton's  fits  of  kindness  were  always  very  transient, 
and  Laura's  deep  mortification  at  having  been  necessitated  to 
accept  a  favour  from  such  a  woman,  was  rendered  still  more 
poignant  by  unavoidably  overhearing  (as  she  was  dressing  at 
her  toilet-table  that  stood  between  two  open  windows)  the  fol 
lowing  dialogue ;  the  speakers  being  two  of  Mrs.  Brantley's 
servant  girls  that  were  ironing  in  the  kitchen  porch,  and  who 
in  talking  to  each  other  of  the  young  ladies,  always  dropped 
the  title  of  Miss  : 

"  Matilda,"  said  one  of  them,  "  don't  you  hear  Laura's  bell  ? 
Didn't  she  tell  you  arter  dinner,  that  she  would  ring  for  you 


LAURA  LOVEL.  181 

arter  a  while,  to  come  up  stairs  and  hook  the  back  of  her 
dress." 

"  Yes/'  replied  Matilda — "  I  hear  it  as  plain  as  you  do, 
Eliza;  but  I  guess  I  shan't  go  till  it  suits  me.  I'm  quite  beat 
out  with  running  up  stairs  from  morning  to  night  to  wait  on 
that  there  Philadelphy  woman,  as  she  takes  such  high  airs. 
Who  but  she  indeed  !  Any  how,  I'm  not  a  going  to  hurry.  I 
shall  just  act  as  if  I  did  not  hear  no  bell  at  all — for  as  to  this 
here  Laura,  I  guess  she  an't  much.  Augusta  told  me  this 
morning,  when  she  got  me  to  fix  her  hair,  that  Miss  Frampton 
told  her  that  Laura  axed  and  begged  her,  amost  on  her  bare 
knees,  to  lend  her  some  money  to  pay  for  her  frocks  and  bun- 
net." 

"  Why,  how  could  she  act  so !"  exclaimed  Eliza. 

"  Because,"  resumed  Matilda,  "  her  people  sent  her  here 
without  a  copper  in  her  pocket.  So  I  guess  they're  a  pretty 
shabby  set,  after  all." 

"  I  was  judging  as  much,"  said  Eliza,  "  by  her  not  taking 
no  airs,  and  always  acting  so  polite  to  everybody." 

"  Well  now,"  observed  Matilda,  "  Mr.  Scourbrass,  the 
gentleman  as  lives  with  old  Madam  Montgomery,  at  the  big 
house,  in  Bowdin  Square,  and  helps  to  do  her  work,  always 
stands  out  that  very  great  people  of  the  rale  sort,  act  much 
better,  and  an't  so  apt  to  take  airs  as  them  what  are  upstarts." 

"  Doctors  differ,"  sagely  remarked  Eliza.  <l  However,  as 
you  say,  I  don't  believe  this  here  Laura  is  much ;  and  I'm 
thinking  how  she'll  get  along  at  Nahant.  Miss  Lathersoap, 
the  lady  as  washes  her  clothes,  told  me,  among  other  things, 
that  Laura's  pocket-hanclkerchers  are  all  quite  plain — not  a 
worked  or  a  laced  one  among  them.  Now  our  Augusta  would 
scorn  to  carry  a  plain  handkercher,  and  so  would  her  mother." 

"  I've  taken  notice  of  Laura's  handkerchers  myself,"  said 
Matilda,  ((  and  I  don't  see  why  we  young  ladies  as  lives  out, 
and  does  people's  work  to  oblige  them,  should  be  expected  to 
run  at  the  beck  and  call  of  any  strangers  they  may  choose  to 
take  into  the  house;  let  alone  when  they're  not  no  great 
things." 

Laura  retreated  from  the  open  windows,  that  she  might  hear 
no  more  of  a  conversation  so  painful  to  her.  She  would  at 
once  have  written  to  her  father,  told  him  all,  and  begged  him, 
if  he  possibly  could,  to  send  her  money  enough  to  repay  Miss 
Frampton,  but  she  had  found,  by  a  letter  received  the  day 


182  LAURA  LOVEL. 

before,  that  he  had  gone  on  some  business  to  the  interior  of 
Maine,  and  would  not  be  home  in  less  than  a  fortnight. 

Next  day  was  the  one  finally  appointed  for  their  removal  to 
Nahant,  and  our  heroine  felt  her  spirits  revive  at  the  idea  of 
beholding,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  u  the  sea,  the  sea,  the 
open  sea."  They  went  in  Mr.  Brantley's  carriage,  and  Laura 
understood  that  she  might  ride  in  her  black  silk  dress  and  her 
straw  bonnet. 

They  crossed  at  the  Winnisimmet  Ferry,  rode  through 
Chelsea,  and  soon  arrived  at  the  flourishing  town  of  Lynn, 
where  every  man  was  making  shoes,  and  every  woman  bind 
ing  them.  The  last  sunbeams  were  glowing  in  the  west,  when 
they  came  to  the  beautiful  Long  Beach  that  connects  the  rocks 
of  Lynn  with  those  of  Nahant,  the  sand  being  so  firm  and 
smooth  that  the  shadow  of  every  object  is  reflected  in  it  down 
wards.  The  tide  was  so  high  that  they  drove  along  the  verge 
of  the  surf,  the  horses'  feet  splashing  through  the  water,  and 
trampling  on  the  shells  and  sea-weed  left  by  the  retiring 
waves.  Cattle,  as  they  went  home,  were  cooling  themselves 
by  wading  breast  high  in  the  breakers;  and  the  little  sand- 
birds  were  sporting  on  the  crests  of  the  billows,  sometimes 
flying  low,  and  dipping  into  the  water  the  white  edges  of  their 
wings,  and  sometimes  seeming,  with  their  slender  feet,  to  walk 
on  the  surface  of  the  foam.  Beyond  the  everlasting  breakers 
rolled  the  unbounded  ocean,  the  haze  of  evening  coming  fast 
upon  it,  and  the  full  moon  rising  broad  and  red  through  the 
misty  veil  of  the  eastern  horizon. 

Laura  Lovel  felt  as  if  she  could  have  viewed  this  scene  for 
ever,  and  at  times  she  could  not  refrain  from  audibly  express 
ing  her  delight.  The  other  ladies  were  deeply  engaged  in 
listening  to  Miss  Frampton's  account  of  a  ball  and  supper 
given  by  her  intimate  friend,  that  lovely  woman,  Mrs.  Ben 
Derrydown,  the  evening  before  Mr.  Ben  Derrydown's  last 
failure,  and  which  ball  and  supper  exceeded  in  splendour  any 
thing  she  had  ever  witnessed,  except  the  wedding-party  of  her 
sweet  love,  Mrs.  Nick  Rearsby,  whose  furniture  was  seized  by 
the  sheriff  a  few  months  after;  and  the  birth-night  concert  at 
the  coming  out  of  her  darling  pet,  Kate  Bolderhurst,  who  ran 
away  next  morning  with  her  music-master. 

Our  party  now  arrived  at  the  Nahant  Hotel,  which  was  full 
of  visitors,  with  some  of  whom  the  Brantleys  were  acquainted. 
After  tea,  when  the  company  adjourned  to  the  lower  drawing- 
rooms,  the  extraordinary  beauty  of  Laura  Lovel  drew  the 


LAURA   LOVEL.  183 

majority  of  the  gentlemen  to  that  side  of  the  apartment  on 
which  the  Brantley  family  were  seated.  Many  introductions 
took  place,  and  Mrs.  Brantley  felt  in  paradise  at  seeing  that 
Tier  party  had  attracted  the  greatest  number  of  beaux.  Miss 
Frampton  generally  made  a  point  of  answering  everything  that 
was  addressed  to  Laura ;  and  Augusta  glided,  and  flitted,  and 
chattered  much  impertinent  nonsense  to  the  gentlemen  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  group,  that  were  waiting  for  an  opportunity 
of  saying  something  to  Miss  Lovel. 

Our  heroine  was  much  confused  at  finding  herself  an  object 
of  such  general  attention,  and  was  also  overwhelmed  by  the 
officious  volubility  of  Miss  Frampton,  though  none  of  it  was 
addressed  to  her,  Mrs.  Maitland,  a  lady  as  unlike  Mrs.  Brant 
ley  as  possible,  was  seated  on  the  other  side  of  Laura  Lovel, 
and  was  at  once  prepossessed  in  her  favour,  not  only  from  the 
beauty  of  her  features,  but  from  the  intelligence  of  her  coun 
tenance.  Desirous  of  being  better  acquainted,  and  seeing  that 
Laura's  present  position  was  anything  but  pleasant  to  her, 
Mrs.  Maitland  proposed  that  they  should  take  a  turn  in  the 
veranda  that  runs  round  the  second  story  of  the  hotel.  To 
this  suggestion  Laura  gladly  assented — for  she  felt  at  once 
that  Mrs.  Maitland  was  just  the  sort  of  woman  she  would  like 
to  know.  There  was  a  refinement  and  dignity  in  her  appear 
ance  and  manner  that  showed  her  to  be  "  every  inch  a  lady  •" 
but  that  dignity  was  tempered  with  a  frankness  and  courtesy 
that  put  every  one  around  her  immediately  at  their  ease. 
Though  now  in  the  autumn  of  life,  her  figure  was  still  good — 
her  features  still  handsome,  but  they  derived  their  chief  charm 
from  the  sensible  and  benevolent  expression  of  her  fine  open 
countenance.  Her  attire  was  admirably  suited  to  her  face  and 
person }  but  she  was  not  over-dressed,  and  she  was  evidently 
one  of  those  fortunate  women  who,  without  bestowing  much 
time  and  attention  upon  it,  are  au  fait  of  all  that  constitutes 
a  correct  and  tasteful  costume. 

Mrs.  Maitland  took  Laura's  arm  within  hers,  and  telling 
Mrs.  Brantley  that  she  was  going  to  carry  off  Miss  Lovel  for 
half  an  hour,  she  made  a  sign  to  a  fine-looking  young  man  on 
the  other  side  of  the  room,  and  introduced  him  as  her  son, 
Mr.  Aubrey  Maitland.  He  conducted  the  two  ladies  up  stairs 
to  the  veranda,  and  in  a  few  minutes  our  heroine  felt  as  if  she 
had  been  acquainted  with  the  Maitlands  for  years.  No  longer 
kept  down  and  oppressed  by  the  night-mare  influence  of  fools, 
her  spirit  expanded,  and  breathed  once  more.  She  expressed, 


184  LAURA   LOVEL. 

without  hesitation,  her  delight  at  the  scene  that  presented 
itself  before  her — for  she  felt  that  she  was  understood. 

The  moon,  now  "  high  in  heaven,"  threw  a  solemn  light  on 
the  trembling  expanse  of  the  ocean,  and  glittered  on  the  spray 
that  foamed  and  murmured  for  ever  round  the  rocks  that  envi 
roned  the  little  peninsula,  their  deep  recesses  slumbering  in 
shade,  while  their  crags  and  points  came  out  in  silver  bright 
ness.  Around  lay  the  numerous  islands  that  are  scattered 
over  Boston  harbour,  and  far  apart  glowed  the  fires  of  two 
light-houses,  like  immense  stars  beaming  on  the  verge  of  the 
horizon  j  one  of  them,  a  revolving  light,  alternately  shining 
out  and  disappearing.  As  a  contrast  to  the  still  repose  that 
reigned  around,  was  the  billiard-room  (resembling  a  little  Gre 
cian  temple),  on  a  promontory  that  overlooked  the  sea — the 
lamps  that  shone  through  its  windows,  mingling  with  the 
moon-beams,  and  the  rolling  sound  of  the  billiard-balls  uniting 
with  the  murmur  of  the  eternal  waters. 

Mrs.  Maitland  listened  with  corresponding  interest  to  the 
animated  and  original  comments  of  her  new  friend,  whose 
young  and  enthusiastic  imagination  had  never  been  more 
vividly  excited ;  and  she  drew  her  out,  till  Laura  suddenly 
stopped,  blushing  with  the  fear  that  she  had  been  saying  too 
much.  Before  they  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  Aubrey 
was  decidedly  and  deeply  in  love. 

When  Laura  retired  to  her  apartment,  she  left  the  window 
open,  that  she  might  from  her  pillow  look  out  upon  the  moon 
light  sea,  and  be  fanned  by  the  cool  night  breeze  that  gently 
rippled  its  waters ;  and  when  she  was  at  last  lulled  to  repose 
by  the  monotonous  dashing  of  the  surf  against  the  rocks  be 
neath  her  casement,  she  had  a  dream  of  the  peninsula  of  Na- 
hant — not  as  it  now  is,  covered  with  new  and  tasteful  build 
ings,  and  a  favourite  resort  of  the  fashion  and  opulence  of 
Boston,  but  as  it  must  have  looked  two  centuries  ago,  when 
the  seals  made  their  homes  among  its  caverned  rocks,  and 
when  the  only  human  habitations  were  the  rude  huts  of  the 
Indian  fishers,  and  the  only  boats  their  canoes  of  bark  and 
skins. 

When  she  awoke  from  her  dream,  she  saw  the  morning-star 
sparkling  high  in  the  east,  and  casting  on  the  dark  surface  of 
the  sea  a  line  of  light  which  seemed  to  mimic  that  of  the 
moon,  long  since  gone  down  beyond  the  opposite  horizon. 
Laura  rose  at  the  earliest  glimpse  of  dawn  to  watch  the  ap 
proaches  of  the  coming  day.  A  hazy  vapour  had  spread  itself 


LAURA   LOVEL.  185 

over  the  water,  and  through  its  gauzy  veil  she  first  beheld  the 
red  rim  of  the  rising  sun,  seeming  to  emerge  from  its  ocean 
bed.  As  the  sun  ascended,  the  mist  slowly  rolled  away,  and 
"  the  light  of  morning  smiled  upon  the  wave,"  and  tinted  the 
white  sails  of  a  little  fleet  of  outward-bound  fishing-boats. 

At  the  breakfast  table  the  majority  of  the  company  consisted 
of  ladies  only :  most  of  the  gentlemen  (including  Aubrey 
Maitland)  having  gone  in  the  early  steamboat  to  attend  to 
their  business  in  the  city.  After  breakfast,  Laura  proposed  a 
walk,  and  Augusta  and  Miss  Frampton,  not  knowing  what  else 
to  do  with  themselves,  consented  to  accompany  her.  A  certain 
Miss  Blunsdon  (who,  being  an  heiress,  and  of  a  patrician  fa 
mily,  conceived  herself  privileged  to  do  as  she  pleased,  and 
therefore  made  it  her  pleasure  to  be  a  hoyden  and  a  slattern), 
volunteered  to  pioneer  them,  boasting  of  her  intimate  know 
ledge  of  every  nook  and  corner  of  the  neighbourhood.  Our 
heroine,  by  particular  desire  of  Augusta  and  Miss  Frampton, 
had  arrayed  herself  that  morning  in  her  new  French  muslin, 
with  what  they  called  its  proper  accompaniments. 

Miss  Blunsdon  conducted  the  party  to  that  singular  cleft  in 
the  rocks,  known  by  the  name  of  the  Swallow's  Cave,  in  con 
sequence  of  its  having  been  formerly  the  resort  of  those  birds, 
.whose  nests  covered  its  walls.  Miss  Frampton  stopped  as 
soon  as  they  came  in  sight  of  it,  declaring  that  it  was  in  bad 
taste  for  ladies  to  scramble  about  such  rugged  places,  and  Au 
gusta  agreeing  that  a  fancy  for  wet,  slippery  rocks  was  cer 
tainly  very  peculiar.  So  the  two  friends  sat  down  on  the  most 
level  spot  they  could  find,  while  Miss  Blunsdon  insisted  on 
Laura's  following  her  to  the  utmost  extent  of  the  cave,  and 
our  heroine's  desire  to  explore  this  wild  and  picturesque  recess 
made  her  forgetful  of  the  probable  consequences  to  her  dress. 

Miss  Blunsdon  and  Laura  descended  into  the  cleft,  which, 
as  they  proceeded,  became  so  narrow  as  almost  to  close  above 
their  heads;  its  lofty  and  irregular  walls  seeming  to  lose 
themselves  in  the  blue  sky.  The  passage  at  the  bottom  was 
in  some  places  scarcely  wide  enough  to  allow  them  to  squeeze 
through  it.  The  tide  was  low,  yet  still  the  stepping-stones, 
loosely  imbedded  in  the  sand  and  sea-weed,  were  nearly  covered 
with  water.  But  Laura  followed  her  guide  to  the  utmost 
extent  of  the  passage,  till  they  looked  out  again  upon  the  sea. 

When  they  rejoined  their  companions — "Oh  !  look  at  your 
new  French  muslin,"  exclaimed  Augusta  to  Laura.  "It  is 
draggled  half  way  up  to  your  knees,  and  the  salt  water  has 


186  LAURA  LOVEL. 

already  taken  the  colour  out  of  it— and  your  pelerine  is  split 
down  the  back — and  your  shoes  are  half  off  your  feet,  and 
your  stockings  are  all  over  wet  sand.  How  very  peculiar  you 
look  1" 

Laura  was  now  extremely  sorry  to  find  her  dress  so  much 
injured,  and  Miss  Frampton  comforted  her  by  the  assurance 
that  it  would  never  again  be  fit  to  be  seen.  They  returned 
to  the  hotel,  where  they  found  Mrs.  Maitland  reading  on  one 
of  the  sofas  in  the  upper  hall.  Laura  was  hastily  running  up 
stairs,  but  Augusta  called  out — "  Mrs.  Maitland,  do  look  at 
Miss  Lovel — did  you  ever  see  such  a  figure  ?  She  has  demo 
lished  her  new  dress,  scrambling  through  the  Swallow's  Cave 
with  Miss  Blunsdon."  And  she  ran  into  the  ladies'  drawing- 
room  to  repeat  the  story  at  full  length,  while  Laura  retired  to 
her  room  to  try  some  means  of  remedying  her  disasters,  and 
to  regret  that  she  had  not  been  permitted  to  bring  with  her 
to  Nahant  some  of  her  gingham  morning  dresses.  The  French 
muslin,  however,  was  incurable ;  its  blue,  though  very  beau 
tiful,  being  of  that  peculiar  cast  which  always  fades  into  a  dull 
white  when  wet  with  water. 

Miss  Frampton  remained  a  while  in  the  hall :  and  taking 
her  seat  beside  Mrs.  Maitland,  said  to  her  in  a  low  confidential 
voice — "Have  you  not  observed,  Mrs.  Maitland,  that  when 
people,  who  are  nobody,  attempt  dress,  they  always  overdo  it. 
Only  think  of  a  country  clergyman's  daughter  coming  to 
breakfast  in  so  expensive  a  French  muslin,  and  then  going  out 
in  it  to  clamber  about  the  rocks,  and  paddle  among  the  wet 
eea-weed.  Now  you  will  see  what  a  show  she  will  make  at 
dinner  in  a  dress,  the  cost  of  which  would  keep  her  whole 
family  in  comfortable  calico  gowns  for  two  years.  I  was  with 
her  wrhen  she  did  her  shopping,  and  though,  as  a  friend,  I 
could  not  forbear  entreating  her  to  get  things  that  were  suit 
able  to  her  circumstances  and  to  her  station  in  life,  she  turned 
a  deaf  ear  to  everything  I  said  (which  was  certainly  in  very 
bad  taste),  and  she  would  buy  nothing  but  the  most  expensive 
and  useless  frippery.  I  suppose  she  expects  to  catch  the 
beaux  by  it.  But  when  they  find  out  who  she  is,  I  rather 
think  they  will  only  nibble  at  the  bait — Heavens  !  what  a  wife 
she  will  make !  And  then  such  a  want  of  self-respect,  and 
even  of  common  integrity.  Of  course  you  will  not  mention 
it — for  I  would  on  no  consideration  that  it  should  go  any  far 
ther — but  between  ourselvc  I  was  actually  obliged  to  lend 
her  money  to  pay  her  bills." 


LAURA   LOVEL.  187 

Mrs.  Maitland,  thoroughly  disgusted  with  her  companion, 
and  disbelieving  the  whole  of  her  gratuitous  communication, 
rose  from  the  sofa  and  departed  without  vouchsafing  a  reply. 

At  dinner,  Laura  Lovel  appeared  in  her  new  silk,  and  really 
looked  beautifully.  Miss  Frampton,  observing  that  our  heroine 
attracted  the  attention  of  several  gentlemen  who  had  just 
arrived  from  the  city,  took  an  opportunity,  while  she  was 
receiving  a  plate  of  chowder  from  one  of  the  waiters,  to  spill 
part  of  it  on  Laura's  dress. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Lovcl,"  said  she;  "when  I  took 
the  soup  I  did  not  perceive  that  you  and  your  new  silk  were 
beside  me." 

Laura  began  to  wipe  her  dress  with  her  pocket-handkerchief. 
"Now  don't  look  so  disconcerted,"  pursued  Miss  Frampton, 
in  a  loud  whisper.  "It  is  in  very  bad  taste  to  appear  annoyed 
when  an  accident  happens  to  your  dress.  People  in  society 
always  pass  off  such  things,  as  of  no  consequence  whatever. 
I  have  apologized  for  spilling  the  soup,  and  what  more  can 
I  do?" 

Poor  Laura  was  not  in  society -,  and  she  knew  that  to  her 
the  accident  was  of  consequence.  However,  she  rallied,  and 
tried  to  appear  as  if  she  thought  no  more  of  the  mischance 
that  had  spoiled  the  handsomest  and  most  expensive  dress  she 
had  ever  possessed.  After  dinner  she  tried  to  remove  the  im 
mense  grease-spot  by  every  application  within  her  reach,  but 
had  no  success. 

When  she  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  she  was  invited 
to  join  a  party  that  was  going  to  visit  the  Spouting  Horn,  as 
it  is  generally  denominated.  She  had  heard  this  remarkable 
place  much  talked  of  since  her  arrival  at  Nahant,  and  she  cer 
tainly  felt  a  great  desire  to  see  it.  Mrs.  Maitland  had  letters 
to  write,  and  Mrs.  Brantley  and  Miss  Frampton  were  engaged 
in  their  siesta ;  but  Augusta  was  eager  for  the  walk,  as  she 
found  that  several  gentlemen  were  going,  among  them  Aubrey 
Maitland,  who  had  just  arrived  in  the  afternoon  boat.  His 
eyes  sparkled  at  the  sight  of  our  heroine,  and  offering  her  his 
arm,  they  proceeded  with  the  rest  of  the  party  to  the  Spouting 
Horn.  This  is  a  deep  cavity  at  the  bottom  of  a  steep  ledge 
of  rocks,  and  the  waves,  as  they  rush  successively  into  it  with 
the  tide,  are  immediately  thrown  out  again  by  the  action  of  a 
current  of  air  which  comes  through  a  small  opening  at  the 
back  of  the  recess,  the  spray  falling  round  like  that  of  a  cas 
cade  or  fountain.  The  tide  and  wind  were  both  high,  and 
16 


188  LAURA   LOVEL. 

Laura  was  told  that  the  Spouting  Horn  would  be  seen  to  great 
advantage. 

Aubrey  Maitland  conducted  her  carefully  down  the  least 
rugged  declivity  of  the  rock,  and  gave  her  his  hand  to  assist 
her  in  springing  from  point  to  point.  They  at  length  de 
scended  to  the  bottom  of  the  crag.  Laura  was  bending  for 
ward  with  eager  curiosity,  and  looking  steadfastly  into  the 
wave-worn  cavern,  much  interested  in  the  explosions  of  foam 
ing  water,  which  was  sometimes  greater  and  sometimes  less. 
Suddenly  a  blast  of  wind  twisted  her  light  dress-bonnet  com 
pletely  round,  and  broke  the  sewing  of  one  of  the  strings,  and 
the  bonnet  was  directly  whirled  before  her  into  the  cavity  of 
the  rock,  and  the  next  moment  thrown  back  again  amidst  a 
shower  of  sea-froth.  Laura  cried  out  involuntarily,  and  Au 
brey  sprung  forward,  and  snatched  it  out  of  the  water. 

"  I  fear,"  said  he,  "  Miss  Level,  your  bonnet  is  irreparably 
injured. "  "It  is,  indeed/'  replied  Laura;  and  remembering 
Miss  Frampton's  lecture,  she  tried  to  say  that  the  destruction 
of  her  bonnet  was  of  no  consequence,  but  unaccustomed  to 
falsehood,  the  words  died  away  on  her  lips. 

The  ladies  now  gathered  round  our  heroine,  who  held  in 
her  hand  the  dripping  wreck  of  the  once  elegant  bonnet ;  and 
they  gave  it  as  their  unanimous  opinion,  that  nothing  could 
possibly  be  done  to  restore  it  to  any  form  that  would  make 
it  wearable.  Laura  then  tied  her  scarf  over  her  head,  and 
Aubrey  Maitland  thought  she  looked  prettier  than  ever. 

Late  in  the  evening,  Mr.  Brantley  arrived  from  town  in  his 
chaise,  bringing  from  the  post-office  a  letter  for  Laura  Lovel, 
from  her  little  sisters,  or  rather  two  letters  written  on  the  same 
sheet.  They  ran  thus  : — 

"RosEBROOK,  August  9th,  18 — . 

"  DEAREST  SISTER  : — We  hope  you  are  having  a  great  deal 
of  pleasure  in  Boston.  How  many  novels  you  must  be  read 
ing — I  wish  I  was  grown'  up  as  you  are — I  am  eight  years  old, 
and  I  have  never  yet  read  a  novel.  We  miss  you  all  the  time. 
There  is  still  a  chair  placed  for  you  at  table,  and  Rosa  and  I 
take  turns  in  sitting  next  to  it.  But  we  can  no  longer  hear 
your  pleasant  talk  with  our  dear  father.  You  know  Rosa  and 
I  always  listened  so  attentively  that  we  frequently  forgot  to 
eat  our  dinners.  I  see  advertised  a  large  new  book  of  Fairy 
Tales.  How  much  you  will  have  to  tell  us  when  you  coino 
home.  Since  you  were  so  kind  as  to  promise  to  bring  me  a 


LAURA  LOVEL.  189 

"book,  I  think,,  upon  second  thought,  I  would  rather  have  the 
Tales  of  the  Castle  than  Miss  Edge  worth's  Moral  Talcs. 

"  Dear  mother  now  has  to  make  all  the  pies  and  puddings 
herself.  We  miss  you  every  way.  The  Children's  Friend 
must  be  a  charming  book — so  must  the  Friend  of  Youth. 

"  Yesterday  we  had  a  pair  of  fowls  killed  for  dinner.  Of 
course  they  were  not  Rosa's  chickens,  nor  mine — they  were 
only  Billy  and  Bobby.  But  still,  Rosa  and  I  cried  very  much, 
as  they  were  fowls  that  we  were  acquainted  with.  Dear  father 
reasoned  with  us  about  it  for  a  long  time }  but  still,  though 
the  fowls  were  made  into  a  pie,  we  could  eat  nothing  but  the 
crust.  I  think  I  should  like  very  much  to  read  the  Robins, 
and  also  Keeper's  Travels  in  Search  of  his  Master. 

"  I  hope,  dear  Laura,  you  will  be  able  to  remember  every 
thing  you  have  seen  and  heard  in  Boston,  that  you  may  have 
the  more  to  tell  us  when  you  come  home.  I  think,  after  all, 
there  is  no  book  I  would  prefer  to  the  Arabian  Nights — no 
doubt  the  Tales  of  the  Genii  are  also  excellent.  Dear  Laura, 
how  I  long  to  see  you  again.  Paul  and  Virginia  must  be 
very  delightful. 

"  Yours  affectionately, 

"ELLA  LOVEL." 

"  DEAR  SISTER  LAURA — I  cried  for  a  long  time  after  you 
left  us,  but  at  last  I  wiped  my  eyes,  and  played  with  Ponto, 
and  was  happy.  I  have  concluded  not  to  want  the  canary- 
bird  I  asked  you  to  get  for  me,  as  I  think  it  best  to  be  satisfied 
by  hearing  the  birds  sing  on  the  trees,  in  the  garden,  and  in 
the  woods.  Last  night  I  heard  a  screech-owl — I  would  rather 
have  a  young  fig-tree  in  a  tub — or  else,  a  great  quantity  of 
new  flower-seeds.  If  you  do  .not  get  either  the  fig-tree  or  the 
flower-seeds,  I  should  like  a  blue  cat,  such  as  I  have  read  of: 
you  know  those  cats  are  not  sky-blue,  but  only  a  bluish  gray. 
If  a  blue  cat  is  not  to  be  had,  I  should  be  glad  of  a  pair  of 
white  English  rabbits ;  and  yet,  I  think  I  would  quite  as 
willingly  have  a  pair  of  doves.  I  never  saw  a  real  dove ;  but 
if  doves  are  scarce,  or  cost  too  much,  I  shall  be  satisfied  with 
a  pair  of  fan-tailed  pigeons,  if  they  are  quite  white,  and  their 
tails  fan  very  much.  If  you  had  a  great  deal  of  money  to 
spare,  I  should  like  a  kid  or  a  fawn,  but  I  know  that  is  im 
possible  j  so  I  will  not  think  of  it.  Perhaps,  when  I  grow  up, 
I  may  be  a  president's  wife ;  if  so,  I  will  buy  an  elephant. 
"  Your  affectionate  sister, 

"  ROSA  LOVEL." 

"  I  send  kisses  to  all  the  people  in  Boston  that  love  you." 


190  LAURA   LOVEL. 

How  gladly  would  Laura,  had  it  been  in  Iier  power,  Lave 
made  every  purchase  mentioned  in  the  letters  of  the  two 
innocent  little  girls  !  Arid  her  heart  swelled  and  her  eyes 
overflowed,  when  she  thought  how  happy  she  might  have  made 
them  at  a  small  part  of  the  expense  she  had  been  persuaded 
to  lavish  on  the  finery  that  had  given  her  so  little  pleasure, 
and  that  was  now  nearly  all  spoiled. 

Next  day  was  Sunday ;  and  they  went  to  church  and  heard 
Mr.  Taylor,  the  celebrated  mariner  clergyman,  with  whose 
deep  pathos  and  simple  good  sense  Laura  was  much  interested, 
while  she  was  at  the  same  time  amused  with  his  originality 
and  quaintncss. 

On  returning  to  the  hotel,  they  found  that  the  morning 
boat  had  arrived,  and  on  looking  up  at  the  veranda,  the  first 
object  Laura  saw  there  was  Pyam  Dodge,  standing  stiffly  with 
his  hands  on  the  railing. 

"  Miss  Lovel,"  said  Augusta,  "  there's  your  friend,  the 
schoolmaster." 

"  Mercy  upon  us,"  screamed  Miss  Frampton,  "  has  that 
horrid  fellow  come  after  you  ?  Ilcally,  Miss  Lovel,  it  was  in 
very  bad  taste  to  invite  him  to  Nahant." 

"I  did  not  invite  him,"  replied  Laura,  colouring;  "I  know 
not  how  he  discovered  that  I  was  here." 

"  The  only  way,  then,"  said  Miss  Frampton,  "  is  to  cut  him 
dead,  and  then  perhaps  he'll  clear  off." 

"Pho,"  said  Augusta,  "do  you  suppose  he  can  understand 
cutting?  why  he  won't  know  whether  he's  cut  or  not." 

"  May  I  ask  who  this  person  is  ?"  said  Aubrey  Maitland, 
in  a  low  voice,  to  Laura.  ll  Is  there  any  stain  or  any  suspicion 
attached  to  him  ?" 

"Oh!  no,  indeed,"  replied  Laura,  earnestly.  And,  in  a 
few  words,  as  they  ascended  the  stairs,  she  gave  him  an  outline 
of  the  schoolmaster  and  his  character. 

"  Then  do  not  cut  him  at  all,"  said  Aubrey.  u  Let  me  take 
the  liberty  of  suggesting  to  you  how  to  receive  him."  They 
had  now  come  out  into  the  veranda,  and  Maitland  immediately 
led  Laura  up  to  Pyam  Dodge,  who  bowed  profoundly  on  being 
introduced  to  him,  and  then  turned  to  our  heroine,  asked  per 
mission  to  shake  hands  with  her,  hoped  his  company  would 
be  found  agreeable,  and  signified  that  he  had  been  unable  to 
learn  where  she  was  from  Mr.  Brantley's  servants ;  but  that 
the  evening  before,  a  gentleman  of  Boston  had  told  him  that 
Mr.  Brantley  and  all  the  family  were  at  Nahant.  Therefore, 


LAURA  LOVEL.  191 

he  had  come  thither  to-day  purposely  to  see  her,  and  to  inform 
her  that  the  summer  vacation  having  commenced,  he  was 
going  to  pay  a  visit  to  his  old  friends  at  Hosebrook,  and  would 
be  very  thankful  if  she  would  honour  him  with  a  letter  or 
message  to  her  family. 

All  this  was  said  with  much  bowing,  and  prosing,  and 
apologizing.  When  it  was  finished,  Maitland  invited  Pyam 
Dodge  to  take  a  turn  round  the  veranda  with  Miss  Lovel  and 
himself,  and  the  poor  schoolmaster  expressed  the  most  pro 
found  gratitude.  When  they  were  going  to  dinner,  Aubrey 
introduced  him  to  Mrs.  Maitland,  placed  him  next  to  himself 
at  table,  and  engaged  him  in  a  conversation  on  the  Greek 
classics,  in  which  Pyam  Dodge,  finding  himself  precisely  in 
his  element,  forgot  his  humility,  and  being  less  embarrassed, 
was  therefore  less  awkward  and  absurd  than  usual. 

Laura  Lovel  had  thought  Aubrey  Maitland  the  handsomest 
and  most  elegant  young  man  she  had  ever  seen.  She  now 
thought  him  the  most  amiable. 

In  the  afternoon,  there  was  a  mirage,  in  which  the  far-off 
rocks  in  the  vicinity  of  Marblehead  appeared  almost  in  the 
immediate  neighbourhood  of  Nahant,  coming  out  in  full  re 
lief,  their  forms  and  colours  well-defined,  and  their  height  and 
breadth  seemingly  much  increased.  While  all  the  company 
were  assembled  to  look  at  this  singular  optical  phenomenon 
(Aubrey  Maitland  being  earnestly  engaged  in  explaining  it 
to  our  heroine),  Miss  Frampton  whispered  to  Laura  that  she 
wished  particularly  to  speak  with  her,  and  accordingly  drew 
her  away  to  another  part  of  the  veranda. 

Laura  turned  pale,  for  she  had  a  presentiment  of  what  was 
coming.  Miss  Frampton  then  told  her,  that  presuming  she 
had  heard  from  home,  she  concluded  that  it  would,  of  course, 
be  convenient  to  return  the  trifle  she  had  lent  her j  adding, 
that  she  wished  to  give  a  small  commission  to  a  lady  that  was 
going  to  town  the  next  morning. 

Poor  Laura  knew  not  what  to  say.  She  changed  colour, 
trembled  with  nervous  agitation,  and  at  last  faltered  out  that, 
in  consequence  of  knowing  her  father  was  from  home,  she  had 
not  yet  written  to  him  on  the  subject,  but  that  she  would  do 
so  immediately,  and  hoped  Miss  Frampton  would  not  find 
it  very  inconvenient  to  wait  a  few  days. 

"Why,  really,   I  don't  know  how  I  can/'  replied  Miss 
Frampton  j    "  I  want  a   shawl    exactly  like  Mrs.   Horton's. 
She  tells  me  they  are  only  to  be  had  at  one  store  in  Boston, 
16* 


192  LAURA  LOVEL, 

and  that  when  she  got  hers  the  other  day,  there  were  only 
two  left.  They  are  really  quite  a  new  style,  strange  as  it  is 
to  see  anything  in  Boston  that  is  not  quite  old-fashioned  in 
Philadelphia.  The  money  I  lent  you  is  precisely  the  sum  for 
this  purpose.  Of  course,  I  am  in  no  want  of  a  shawl — thank 
Heaven,  I  have  more  than  I  know  what  to  do  with — but,  as  I 
told  you,  these  are  quite  a  new  style — " 

"  Oh  !  how  gladly  would  I  pay  you,  if  I  could  I"  exclaimed 
Laura,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands.  "  What  would  I 
give  at  this  moment  for  twenty-five  dollars  I" 

"  I  hope  I  am  not  inconvenient,"  said  the  voice  of  Pyain 
Dodge,  close  at  Laura's  back ;  "  but  I  have  been  looking  for 
Miss  Laura  Lovel,  that  I  may  take  my  leave,  and  return  to 
town  in  the  next  boat/7 

Miss  Frampton  tossed  her  head  and  walked  away,  to  tell 
Mrs.  Horton,  confidentially,  that  Miss  Lovel  had  borrowed 
twenty -five  dollars  of  her  to  buy  finery ;  but  not  to  add  that 
she  had  just  been  asking  her  for  payment. 

"  If  I  may  venture  to  use  such  freedom,"  pursued  Pyam 
Dodge,  "  I  think,  Miss  Laura  Lovel,  I  overheard  you  just  now 
grieving  that  you  could  not  pay  some  money.  Now,  my  good 
child  (if  you  will  forgive  me  for  calling  you  so),  why  should 
you  be  at  any  loss  for  money,  when  I  have  just  received  my 
quarter's  salary,  and  when  I  have  more  about  me  than  I  know 
what  to  do  with  ?  I  heard  you  mention  twenty -five  dollars — 
here  it  is  (taking  some  notes  out  of  an  enormous  pocket-book), 
and  if  you  want  any  more,  as  I  hope  you  do — " 

"  Oh  !  no,  indeed — no,"  interrupted  Laura.  "  I  cannot 
take  it ;  I  would  not  on  any  consideration." 

"I  know  too  well,"  continued  Pyam  Dodge,  "I  am  not 
worthy  to  offer  it,  and  I  hope  I  am  not  making  myself  dis 
agreeable.  But  if,  Miss  Laura  Lovel,  you  would  only  have 
the  goodness  to  accept  it,  you  may  be  sure  I  will  never  ask 
you  for  it  as  long  as  I  live.  I  would  even  take  a  book-oath 
not  to  do  so." 

Laura  steadily  refused  the  proffered  kindness  of  the  poor 
schoolmaster,  and  begged  Pyam  Dodge  to  mention  the  subject 
to  her  no  more.  She  told  him  that  all  she  now  wished  was 
to  go  home,  and  that  she  would  write  by  him  to  her  family, 
begging  that  her  father  would  come  for  her  (as  he  had  pro 
mised  at  parting)  and  take  her  back  to  Rosebrook,  as  soon  as 
he  could.  She  quitted  Pyam  Dodge,  who  was  evidently  much 
mortified,  and  retired  to  write  her  letter,  which  she  gave  to 


LAURA  LOVEL,  193 

Kim  as  soon  as  it  was  finished,  finding  him  in  the  hall  taking 
a  ceremonious  leave  of  the  Maitlands.  He  departed,  and 
Laura's  spirits  were  gradually  revived  during  the  evening  by 
the  gratifying  attentions  and  agreeable  conversation  of  Mrs. 
Maitland  and  her  son. 

When  our  heroine  retired  for  the  night,  she  found  on  her 
table  a  letter  in  a  singularly  uncouth  hand,  if  hand  it  could 
be  called,  where  every  word  was  differently  written.  It  en 
closed  two  ten  dollar  notes  and  a  five,  and  was  conceived  in 
the  following  words : 

"  This  is  to  inform  Miss  Laura,  eldest  daughter  of  the 
Reverend  Edward  Lovel,  of  Rosebrook,  Massachusetts,  that 
an  unknown  friend  of  hers,  whose  name  it  will  be  impossible 
for  her  to  guess  (and  therefore  to  make  the  attempt  will  doubt 
less  be  entire  loss  of  time,  and  time  is  always  precious),  hav 
ing  accidentally  heard  (though  by  what  means  is  a  profound 
secret)  that  she,  at  this  present  time,  is  in  some  little  difficulty 
for  want  of  a  small  sum  of  money,  he,  therefore,  this  unknown 
friend,  offers  to  her  acceptance  the  before-mentioned  sum, 
hoping  that  she  will  find  nothing  disgusting  in  his  using  so 
great  a  liberty." 

"  Oh  !  poor  Pyam  Dodge  !"  exclaimed  Laura,  "  why  did 
you  take  the  trouble  to  disguise  and  disfigure  your  excellent 
handwriting  ?"  And  she  felt,  after  all,  what  a  relief  it  was  to 
transfer  her  debt  from  Miss  Frampton  to  the  good  schoolmas 
ter.  Reluctant  to  have  any  further  personal  discussion  on  this 
painful  subject,  she  enclosed  the  notes  in  a  short  billet  to  Miss 
Frampton,  and  sent  it  immediately  to  that  lady's  apartment. 
She  then  went  to  bed,  comparatively  happy,  slept  soundly,  and 
dreamed  of  Aubrey  Maitland. 

About  the  end  of  the  week,  Laura  Lovel  was  delighted  to 
see  her  father  arrive  with  Mr.  Brantley.  As  soon  as  they 
were  alone,  she  threw  herself  into  his  arms,  and  with  a  flood 
of  tears  explained  to  him  the  particulars  of  all  that  passed 
since  she  left  home,  and  deeply  lamented  that  she  had  allowed 
herself  to  be  drawn  into  expenses  beyond  her  means  of  defray 
ing,  and  which  her  father  could  ill  afford  to  supply,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  pain  and  mortification  they  had  occasioned  to 
herself. 

"  My  beloved  child,"  said  Mr.  Lovel,  "  I  have  been  much 
to  blame  for  intrusting  you  at  an  age  so  early  and  inexperi 
enced,  and  with  no  knowledge  of  a  town-life  and  its  habits,  to 


194  LAURA  LOVEL. 

the  guidance  and  example  of  a  family  of  whom  I  knew  no 
thing,  except  that  they  were  reputable  and  opulent/' 

Mr.  Lovel  then  gave  his  daughter  the  agreeable  intelligence 
that  the  tract  of  land  which  was  the  object  of  his  visit  to 
Maine,  and  which  had  been  left  him  in  his  youth  by  an  old 
aunt,  and  was  then  considered  of  little  or  no  account,  had 
greatly  increased  in  value  by  a  new  and  flourishing  town  hav 
ing  sprung  up  in  its  immediate  vicinity.  This  tract  he  had 
recently  been  able  to  sell  for  ten  thousand  dollars,  and  the 
interest  of  that  sum  would  now  make  a  most  acceptable  addi 
tion  to  his  little  income. 

He  also  informed  her  that  Pyam  Dodge  was  then  at  the 
village  of  Rosebrook,  where  he  was  "  visiting  round/'  as  he 
called  it,  and  that  the  good  schoolmaster  had  faithfully  kept 
the  secret  of  the  twenty-five  dollars  which  he  had  pressed  upon 
Laura,  and  which  Mr.  Lovel  had  now  heard,  for  the  first  time, 
from  herself. 

"While  this  conversation  was  going  on  between  the  father 
and  daughter,  Mrs.  Maitland  and  her  son  were  engaged  in  dis 
cussing  the  beauty  and  the  apparent  merits  of  our  heroine. 
"  I  should  like  extremely,"  said  Mrs.  Maitland,  "  to  invite 
Miss  Lovel  to  pass  the  winter  with  me.  But,  you  know,  we 
live  much  in  the  world,  and  I  fear  the  limited  state  of  her 
father's  finances  could  not  allow  her  to  appear  as  she  would 
wish.  Yet,  perhaps,  I  might  manage  to  assist  her  in  that 
respect,  without  wounding  her  delicacy.  I  think  with  regret 
of  so  fair  a  flower  being  '  born  to  blush  unseen,  and  waste  its 
sweetness  on  the  desert  air/  " 

"  There  is  one  way,"  said  Aubrey  Maitland,  smiling  and 
colouring,  "  by  which  we  might  have  Miss  Lovel  to  spend 
next  winter  in  Boston,  without  any  danger  of  offending  her 
delicacy,  or  subjecting  her  to  embarrassment  on  account  of 
her  personal  expenses — a  way  which  would  enable  her  to 
appear  as  she  deserves,  and  to  move  in  a  sphere  that  she  is  so 
well  calculated  to  adorn,  though  not  as  Miss  Lovel." 

"  I  cannot  but  understand  you,  Aubre}^"  replied  Mrs. 
Maitland,  who  had  always  been  not  only  the  mother,  but  the 
sympathizing  and  confidential  friend  of  her  son — "  yet  be  not 
too  precipitate.  Know  more  of  this  young  lady,  before  you 
go  so  far  that  you  cannot  in  honour  recede/' 

"I  know  her  sufficiently,"  said  Aubrey,  with  animation. 
"  She  is  to  be  understood  at  once,  and  though  I  flatter  myself 
that  I  may  have  already  excited  some  interest  in  her  heart, 


LAURA   LOVEL.  195 

yet  I  have  no  reason  to  suppose  that  she  entertains  for  me 
such  feelings  as  would  induce  her  at  this  time  to  accept  my 
offer.  She  is  extremely  anxious  to  get  homo ;  she  may  have 
left  a  lover  there.  But  let  me  be  once  assured  that  her  affec 
tions  are  disengaged,  and  that  she  is  really  inclined  to  bestow 
them  on  me,  arid  a  declaration  shall  immediately  follow  the 
discovery.  A  man  who,  after  being  convinced  of  the  regard 
of  the  woman  he  loves,  can  trifle  with  her  feelings,  and  hesi 
tate  about  securing  her  hand,  does  not  deserve  to  obtain  her." 

Laura  had  few  preparations  to  make  for  her  departure,  which 
took  place  the  next  morning,  Aubrey  Maitland  and  Mr.  Brant- 
ley  accompanying  her  and  her  father  to  town,  in  the  early 
boat.  Mrs.  Maitland  took  leave  of  her  affectionately.  Mrs. 
Brantley  smilingly,  Augusta  coldly,  and  Miss  Frampton  not 
at  all. 

Mr.  Lovel  and  his  daughter  passed  that  day  in  Boston, 
staying  at  a  hotel.  Laura  showed  her  father  the  children's 
letter.  All  the  books  that  Ella  mentioned  were  purchased  for 
her,  and  quite  a  little  menagerie  of  animals  was  procured  for 
Rosa. 

They  arrived  safely  at  Rosebrook.  And  when  Mr.  Lovel 
was  invoking  a  blessing  on  their  evening  repast,  he  referred  to 
the  return  of  his  daughter,  and  to  his  happiness  on  seeing  her 
once  more  in  her  accustomed  seat  at  table,  in  a  manner  that 
drew  tears  into  the  eyes  of  every  member  of  the  family. 

Pyam  Dodge  was  there,  only  waiting  for  Laura's  arrival,  to 
set  out  next  morning  on  a  visit  to  his  relations  in  Vermont. 
With  his  usual  want  of  tact,  and  his  usual  kindness  of  heart, 
he  made  so  many  objections  to  receiving  the  money  with  which 
he  had  accommodated  our  heroine,  that  Mr.  Lovel  was  obliged 
to  slip  it  privately  into  his  trunk  before  his  departure. 

In  a  few  days,  Aubrey  Maitland  came  to  Rosebrook  and 
established  himself  at  the  principal  inn,  from  whence  he  visit 
ed  Laura  the  evening  of  his  arrival.  Next  day  he  came  both 
morning  and  evening.  On  the  third  day  he  paid  her  three 
visits,  and  after  that  it  was  not  worth  while  to  count  them. 

The  marriage  of  Aubrey  and  Laura  took  place  at  the  close 
of  the  autumn,  and  they  immediately  went  into  the  possession 
of  an  elegant  residence  of  their  own,  adjoining  the  mansion 
of  the  elder  Mrs.  Maitland.  They  are  now  living  in  as  much 
happiness  as  can  fall  to  the  lot  of  human  beings. 

Before  the  Nahant  season  was  over,  Miss  Frampton  had 
quarrelled  with  or  offended  nearly  every  lady  at  the  hotel,  and 


196  LAURA   LOVEL. 

Mr.  Brantley  privately  insisted  that  his  wife  should  not  invite 
her  to  pass  the  winter  with  them.  However,  she  protracted 
her  stay  as  long  as  she  possibly  could,  with  any  appearance 
of  decency,  and  then  returned  to  Philadelphia,  under  the  escort 
of  one  of  Mr.  Brantley's  clerks.  After  she  came  home,  her 
visit  to  Boston  afforded  her  a  new  subject  of  conversation,  in 
which  the  predominant  features  were  general  ridicule  of  the 
Yankees  (as  she  called  them),  circumstantial  slanders  of  the 
family  to  whose  hospitality  she  had  been  indebted  for  more 
than  three  months,  and  particular  abuse  of  li  that  little  wretch 
Augusta." 


JOHN  W.   ROBERTSON/ 

A  TALE  OF  A  CENT. 

"  Some  there  be  that  shadows  kiss." — SHAKSPEARE. 

SELINA  MANSEL  was  only  sixteen  when  she  took  charge  of 
her  father's  house,  and  he  delegated  to  her  the  arduous  task  of 
doing  as  she  pleased :  provided  always  that  she  duly  attended 
to  his  chief  injunction,  never  to  allow  herself  to  incur  a  debt, 
however  trifling,  and  to  purchase  nothing  that  she  could  not 
pay  for  on  the  spot.  To  the  observance  of  this  rule,  which  he 
had  laid  down  for  himself  in  early  life,  Mr.  Mansel  attributed 
all  his  success  in  business,  and  his  ability  to  retire  at  the  age 
of  fifty  with  a  handsome  competence. 

Since  the  death  of  his  wife,  Mr.  Mansel' s  sister  had  presided 
over  his  family,  and  had  taken  much  interest  in  instructing 
Selina  in  what  she  justly  termed  the  most  useful  part  of  a 
woman's  education.  Such  was  Miss  Eleanor  Hansel's  devo 
tion  to  her  brother  and  his  daughter,  that  she  had  hesitated 
for  twelve  years  about  returning  an  intelligible  answer  to  the 
love-letters  which  she  received  quarterly  from  Mr.  Waitstill 
Wonderly,  a  gentleman  whose  dwelling-place  was  in  the  far, 
far  east.  Every  two  years  this  paragon  of  patience  came  in 
person  :  his  home  being  at  a  distance  of  several  hundred  miles, 
and  his  habits  by  no  means  so  itinerant  as  those  of  the  gene 
rality  of  his  countrymen. 

On  his  sixth  avatar,  Miss  Mansel  consented  to  reward  with 
her  hand  the  constancy  of  her  inamorato ;  as  Selina  had,  with 
in  the  last  twelvemonth,  made  up  two  pieces  of  linen  for  her 
father,  prepared  the  annual  quantity  of  pickles  and  preserves, 

(197) 


198  JOHN    W.    ROBERTSON. 

and  superintended  two  house-cleanings,  all  herself — thus  giv 
ing  proof  positive  that  she  was  fully  competent  to  succeed  her 
aunt  Eleanor  as  mistress  of  the  establishment. 

Selina  Mansel  was  a  very  good  and  a  very  pretty  girl. 
Though  living  in  a  large  and  nourishing  provincial  town, 
which  we  shall  denominate  Somerford,  she  had  been  brought 
up  in  comparative  retirement,  and  had  scarcely  yet  begun  to 
go  into  company,  as  it  is  called.  Her  understanding  was 
naturally  excellent ;  but  she  was  timid,  sensitive,  easily  dis 
concerted,  and  likely  to  appear  to  considerable  disadvantage 
in  any  situation  that  was  the  least  embarrassing. 

About  two  months  after  the  departure  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Wonderly,  the  whole  borough  of  Somerford  was  thrown  into 
commotion  by  the  unexpected  arrival  of  an  old  townsman,  who 
had  made  his  fortune  in  New  Orleans.  This  person  was  called 
in  his  youth  Jack  Robinson.  After  twenty  years  of  successful 
adventure,  he  now  returned  as  John  W.  Robertson,  Esq.,  and 
concluded  to  astonish  for  a  while  the  natives  of  his  own  birth 
place,  and  perhaps  pass  the  summer  among  them.  Therefore, 
he  took  two  of  the  best  apartments  in  the  chief  hotel ;  and 
having  grown  very  tired  of  old  bachelorship,  and  entertaining 
a  great  predilection  for  all  the  productions  of  his  native  town, 
he  determined  to  select  a  wife  from  among  the  belles  of 
Somerford. 

Now  Mr.  Robertson  was  a  man  in  whose  face  and  figure 
the  most  amiable  portrait-painter  could  have  found  nothing  to 
commend.  He  was  not  what  is  called  a  fine-looking  man,  for 
though  sufficiently  tall,  he  was  gaunt  and  ill-proportioned. 
He  was  not  a  handsome  man,  for  every  feature  was  ugly  j  and 
his  complexion,  as  well  as  his  hair,  was  all  of  one  ash-colour; 
though  his  eyes  were  much  lighter  than  his  skin.  He  was 
fully  aware  of  his  deficiency  in  beauty ;  but  it  was  some  con 
solation  to  him  that  he  had  been  a  very  pretty  baby,  as  he 
frequently  took  occasion  to  mention.  With  all  this,  he  was 
extremely  ambitious  of  marrying  a  beautiful  woman,  and  reso 
lutely  determined  that  she  should  "love  him  for  himself 
alone."  Though  in  the  habit  of  talking  ostentatiously  of  his 
wealth,  yet  he  sometimes  considered  this  wealth  as  a  sort  of 
thorn  in  his  path  to  matrimony  ]  for  he  could  not  avoid  the 
intrusion  of  a  very  uncomfortable  surmise,  that  were  he  still 
poor  Jack  Robinson,  he  would  undoubtedly  be  "  cut  dead"  by 
the  same  ladies  who  were  now  assiduously  angling  for  a  word 
or  a  look  from  John  W.  Robertson;  Esq.  It  is  true  that,  being 


JOHN   W.   ROBERTSON.  199 

habitually  cautious,  lie  proceeded  warily,  and  dispensed  his 
notice  to  the  ladies  with  much  economy,  finding  that,  in  the 
words  of  charity  advertisements,  "  the  smallest  donations  were 
thankfully  received." 

Having  once  read  a  novel,  and  it  being  one  in  which  the 
heroine  blushes  all  through  the  book,  he  concluded  that  con 
fusion  and  suffusion  were  infallible  signs  of  love,  and  that 
whenever  the  bloom  on  a  lady's  cheeks  deepens  at  the  sight 
of  a  gentleman,  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  the  sincerity  and  dis 
interestedness  of  her  regard,  and  that  she  certainly  loves  him 
for  himself  alone.  Adopting  this  theory,  Mr.  Robertson  de 
termined  not  to  owe  his  success  to  any  adventitious  circum 
stances;  and  he  accordingly  disdained  that  attention  to  his 
toilet  usually  observed  by  gentlemen  in  the  Coelebs  line. 
Therefore,  as  the  season  was  summer,  he  walked  about  all  the 
morning  in  a  long  loose  gown  of  broad-striped  gingham,  buck 
skin  shoes,  and  an  enormous  Leghorn  hat,  the  brim  turned  up 
behind  and  down  before.  In  the  afternoon,  his  flying  Joseph 
was  exchanged  for  a  round  jacket  of  sea-grass :  and  in  the  eve 
ning  he  generally  appeared  in  a  seersucker  coat.  But  he  was 
invited  everywhere. 

The  mothers  flattered  him,  and  the  daughters  smiled  on 
him,  yet  still  he  saw  no  blushes.  He  looked  in  vain  for  the 
"  sweet  confusion,  rosy  terror/'  which  he  supposed  to  be 
always  evinced  by  a  young  lady  in  the  presence  of  the  man  of 
her  heart.  The  young  ladies  that  lie  met  with,  had  all  their 
wits  about  them ;  and  if  on  seeing  him  they  covered  their 
faces,  it  was  only  to  giggle  behind  their  fans.  Instead  of 
shrinking  modestly  back  at  his  approach,  they  followed  him 
everywhere ;  and  he  has  more  than  once  been  seen  perambu 
lating  the  main  street  of  Somerford  at  the  head  of  half  a 
dozen  young  ladies,  like  a  locomotive  engine  drawing  a  train 
of  cars. 

With  the  exception  of  two  professed  novel-readers  who 
treated  our  hero  with  ill-concealed  contempt,  because  they 
could  find  in  him  no  resemblance  to  Lord  St.  Orville  or  to 
Thaddeus  of  Warsaw,  Selina  Mansel  was  almost  the  only  lady 
in  Somerford  that  took  Mr.  Robertson  quietly.  The  truth 
was,  she  never  thought  of  him  at  all :  and  it  was  this  evident 
indifference,  so  strikingly  contrasted  with  the  unremitting 
solicitude  of  her  companions,  that  first  attracted  his  attention 
towards  Selina,  rather  than  her  superiority  in  beauty  or 
accomplishments:  for  Miss  Madderlake  had  redder  cheeks, 
17 


200  JOHN   W.   ROBERTSON. 

Miss  Tightscrew  a  smaller  waist,  Miss  Deathscream  sung 
louder,  and  Miss  Twirlfoot  danced  higher. 

Selina  Mansel  was  the  youngest  of  the  Somerford  belles, 
and  had  scarcely  yet  come  out.  It  never  entered  her  mind 
that  a  man  of  Mr.  Robertson's  age  could  think  of  marrying  a 
girl  of  sixteen.  How  little  she  knew  of  old  bachelors  ! 

Having  always  heard  herself  termed  "  the  child,"  by  her 
father  and  her  aunt,  she  still  retained  the  habit  of  considering 
herself  as  such ;  and  strange  to  tell,  the  idea  of  a  lover  had 
not  yet  found  its  way  into  her  head  or  her  heart.  Accord 
ingly,  on  meeting  Mr.  Robertson  for  the  first  time  (it  was  at 
a  small  party),  she  thought  she  passed  the  evening  pleasantly 
enough  in  sitting  between  two  matrons,  and  hearing  from  them 
the  praises  of  her  aunt  \Yonderly's  notability — accompanied 
by  numerous  suggestions  of  improvements  in  confectionery, 
and  in  the  management  of  servants ;  these  hints  being  kindly 
intended  for  her  benefit  as  a  young  housekeeper. 

Mr.  Robertson,  who  proceeded  cautiously  in  everything, 
after  gazing  at  Selina  across  the  room,  satisfied  himself  that 
she  was  very  handsome  and  very  unaffected,  and  requested  an 
introduction  to  her  from  the  gentleman  of  the  house,  adding 
— "  But  not  just  now — any  time  in  the  course  of  the  evening. 
You  know,  when  ladies  are  in  question,  it  is  very  impolitic  in 
gentlemen  to  show  too  much  eagerness." 

The  introduction  eventually  took  place,  and  Mr.  Robertson 
talked  of  the  weather,  then  of  the  westerly  winds,  which  he 
informed  Selina  were  favourable  to  vessels  going  out  to 
Europe,  but  dead  ahead  to  those  that  were  coming  home. 
He  then  commenced  a  long  story  about  the  very  profitable 
voyage  of  one  of  his  ships,  but  told  it  in  language  unintelli 
gible  to  any  but  a  merchant. 

Selina  grew  very  tired,  and  having  tried  to  listen  quite  as 
long  as  she  thought  due  to  civility,  she  renewed  her  conversa 
tion  with  one  of  the  ladies  that  sat  beside  her,  and  Mr.  Robert 
son,  in  some  vexation,  turned  away  and  carried  his  dullness  to 
the  other  end  of  the  room,  where  pretty  Miss  Holdhimfast 
sat,  the  image  of  delighted  attention,  her  eyes  smiling  with 
pleasure,  and  her  lips  parted  in  intense  interest,  while  he 
talked  to  her  of  assorted  cargoes,  bills  of  lading,  and  custom 
house  bonds.  At  times,  he  looked  round,  over  his  shoulder, 
to  see  if  Selina  evinced  any  discomposure  at  his  quitting  her 
— but  he  perceived  no  signs  of  it. 

Mr.   Mansel  having  renewed  his  acquaintance  with  Mr. 


JOHN   W.    ROBERTSON.  201 

'  Robertson,  our  hero  called  next  morning  to  pay  a  visit  to  the 
father  of  Selina,  though  his  chief  motive  was  the  expectation 
of  seeing  the  young  lady,  who  since  the  preceding  evening  had 
occupied  as  much  of  his  mind  and  thoughts  as  a  thorough 
going  business  man  ever  devotes  to  a  woman. 

Selina  was  in  the  parlour,  and  sat  quietly  at  her  sewing,  not 
perceiving  that,  though  Mr.  Robertson  talked  to  her  father  all 
the  time  about  the  Bank  of  the  United  States,  he  looked 
almost  continually  at  her.  On  hearing  the  clock  strike,  she 
rose,  put  up  her  work,  and  repaired  to  her  own  room — recol 
lecting  that  it  was  her  day  for  writing  to  Mrs.  Wonderly,  and 
that  the  mail  would  close  in  two  hours,  which  Selina  had 
always  found  the  shortest  possible  time  for  filling  a  large  sheet 
of  paper  closely  written — such  being  the  missive  that  she 
despatched  every  week  to  her  beloved  aunt. 

Mr.  Robertson,  after  prolonging  his  visit  to  an  unreasonable 
period,  departed  in  no  very  good  humour  at  Selina' s  not 
returning  to  the  parlour :  for  though  he  saw  through  the 
designs  of  the  other  ladies,  he  was  somewhat  piqued  that  our 
young  and  handsome  heroine  should  have  no  design  at  all. 

In  the  afternoon  Selina  went  out  on  a  shopping  expedition. 
Mr.  Robertson  happened  to  overtake  her,  and  she  looked  so 
very  pretty,  and  tripped  along  so  lightly  and  gracefully,  that 
he  could  not  refrain  from  joining  her,  instead  of  making  his 
bow  and  passing  on,  as  had  been  his  first  intention. 

In  the  course  of  conversation,  Selina  was  informed  by  Mr. 
Robertson  (who,  though  no  longer  in  business,  still  made  the 
price-current  his  daily  study)  that,  by  the  last  advices  from 
New  York,  tallow  was  calm,  and  hides  were  drooping — that 
pots  were  lively,  and  that  pearls  were  looking  up  j  and  that 
there  was  a  better  feeling  towards  mackerel. 

He  accompanied  Selina  to  the  principal  fancy-store,  and 
when  the  young  lady  had  completed  her  purchases,  and  had 
been  persuaded  by  Mr.  Stretchlace  to  take  several  additional 
articles,  she  found,  on  examining  her  purse,  that  she  had 
nearly  exhausted  its  contents,  and  that  even  with  putting  all 
her  small  change  together,  she  still  wanted  one  cent.  Mr. 
Stretchlace  assured  her  that  he  considered  a  cent  as  of  no 
consequence ;  but  Selina,  who  had  been  brought  up  in  the 
strictest  ideas  of  integrity,  replied  that,  as  she  had  agreed  to 
pay  as  much  for  the  article  as  he  had  asked  her,  she  could  not 
allow  him  to  lose  a  single  farthing.  Mr.  Stretchlace  smiled, 
and  reminded  her  that  she  could  easily  stop  in  and  give  him 


202  JOHN    W.    ROBERTSON. 

the  cent,  at  any  time  when  she  happened  to  be  passing  his 
store.  Selina,  recollecting  her  father's  rule  of  never  going  in 
debt  to  a  shopkeeper,  even  to  the  most  trifling  amount,  pro 
posed  leaving  a  pair  of  gloves  (her  last  purchase)  till  she  came 
again.  Mr.  Robertson,  to  put  an  end  to  the  difficulty,  took 
a  cent  from  his  purse,  and  requested  permission  to  lend  it  to 
Miss  Mansel.  Selina  coloured,  but  after  some  hesitation  ac 
cepted  the  loan,  resolving  to  repay  it  immediately.  Having 
this  intention  on  her  mind,  she  was  rather  glad  when  she 
found  that  Mr.  Robertson  intended  walking  home  with  her, 
as  it  would  give  her  an  opportunity  of  liquidating  the  debt — 
and  he  entertained  her  on  the  way  with  the  history  of  a 
transaction  in  uplands,  and  another  in  sea-islands. 

They  arrived  at  Mr.  Mansel' s  door,  and  her  companion  was 
taking  his  leave,  when  Selina,  thinking  only  of  the  cent,  asked 
him  if  he  would  not  come  in.  Of  course,  she  had  no  motive 
but  to  induce  him  to  wait  till  she  had  procured  the  little  coin 
in  question.  He  found  the  invitation  too  nattering  to  be 
resisted,  and  smirkingly  followed  her  into  the  front  parlour. 
Selina  was  disappointed  at  not  finding  her  father  there.  De 
siring  Mr.  Robertson  to  excuse  her  for  a  moment,  she  went  to 
her  own  room  in  quest  of  some  change — but  found  nothing 
less  than  a  five  dollar  note. 

A  young  lady  of  more  experience  and  more  self-possession, 
would,  at  once,  have  thought  of  extricating  herself  from  the 
dilemma  by  applying  to  one  of  the  servants  for  the  loan  of  a 
cent;  but  at  this  time  no  such  idea  entered  Selina's  head. 
Therefore,  calling  Ovid,  her  black  man,  she  despatched  him 
with  the  note  to  get  changed,  and  then  returned  herself  to  the 
parlour. 

Taking  her  seat  near  the  centre-table,  Selina  endeavoured 
to  engage  her  guest  in  conversation,  lest  he  should  go  away 
without  his  money.  But,  too  little  accustomed  to  the  world 
and  its  contingencies  to  feel  at  all  at  her  ease  on  this  occasion, 
not  having  courage  to  mention  the  cent,  and  afraid  every  mo 
ment  that  Mr.  Robertson  would  rise  to  take  his  leave,  she 
became  more  and  more  embarrassed,  sat  uneasily  on  her  chair, 
kept  her  eyes  on  the  floor,  except  when  she  stole  glances  at 
her  visiter  to  see  if  he  showed  any  symptoms  of  departure,  and 
looked  frequently  towards  the  door,  hoping  the  arrival  of 
Ovid. 

Unconscious  of  what  she  was  doing,  our  heroine  took  a 
camellia  japonica  from  a  vase  that  stood  on  the  table,  and 


JOHN   W.    ROBERTSON.  203 

having  smelled  it  a  dozen  times  (though  it  is  a  flower  that  has 
no  perfume)  she  began  to  pick  it  to  pieces.  Mr.  Robertson 
stopped  frequently  in  the  midst  of  a  long  story  about  a  spe 
culation  in  sperm  oil,  his  attention  being  continually  engaged 
by  the  evident  perturbation  of  the  young  lady.  But  when  he 
saw  her  picking  to  pieces  the  camellia  which  she  had  pressed 
to  her  nose  and  to  her  lips,  he  was  taken  with  a  sudden  access 
of  gallantry,  and  stalking  up  to  her,  and  awkwardly  stretching 
out  his  hand  at  arm's  length,  he  said,  in  a  voice  intended  to 
be  very  sweet — "  Miss  Mansel,  will  you  favour  me  with  that 
flower  r 

Selina,  not  thinking  of  what  she  did,  hastily  dropped  the 
camellia  into  his  out-spread  palm,  and  ran  to  meet  her  servant 
Ovid,  whom  she  saw  at  that  moment  coming  into  the  house. 
She  stopped  him  in  the  hall,  and  eagerly  held  out  her  hand, 
while  Ovid  slowly  and  carefully  counted  into  it,  one  by  one, 
ten  half  dollars,  telling  her  that  he  had  been  nearly  all  over 
town  with  the  note,  as  "  change  is  always  scace  of  an  after 
noon." 

"How  vexatious  !"  said  Selina,  in  a  low  voice — "You  have 
brought  me  no  cents.  It  was  particularly  a  cent  that  I 
wanted — a  cent  above  all  things.  Did  I  not  tell  you  so  ? — I 
am  sure  I  thought  I  did." 

Ovid  persisted  in  declaring  that  she  had  merely  desired  him 
to  get  the  note  changed,  and  that  he  thought  "nobody  needn't 
wish  for  better  change  than  all  big  silver," — but  feeling  in 
his  pocket,  he  said  "he  believed,  if  Miss  Selina  would  let  him, 
he  could  lend  her  a  cent."  However,  after  searching  all  his 
pockets,  he  found  only  a  quarter  of  a  dollar.  "  But,"  added 
he,  I  can  go  in  the  kitchen  and  ax  if  the  women  hav'n't  got 
no  coppers.  Ah  !  Miss  Selina — your  departed  aunt  always 
kept  her  pocket  full." 

Selina  then  desired  him  to  go  immediately  and  inquire  for 
a  cent  among  the  women.  She  then  returned  to  the  parlour, 
and  Mr.  Robertson,  having  nothing  more  to  say,  rose  to  take 
his  leave.  During  her  absence  from  the  room,  he  had  torn 
off  the  back  of  a  letter,  folded  in  it  the  half-demolished  camellia 
japonica,  and  deposited  it  in  his  waistcoat  pocket. 

Selina  begged  him  to  stay  a  few  minutes  longer,  and  she 
went  into  the  kitchen  to  inquire  in  person  about  the  cent. 

"Apparently," thought  Robertson,  "she  finds  it  hard  to 
part  with  me.  And  certainly  she  has  seemed  confused  and 
agitated,  during  the  whole  of  my  visit." 


204  JOHN   W.    ROBERTSON. 

On  making  her  inquiry  among  the  denizens  of  the  kitchen, 
Selina  found  that  none  of  the  women  had  any  probable  coppers, 
excepting  Violet,  the  black  cook,  who  was  fat  and  lame,  and 
who  intended,  as  soon  as  she  had  done  making  some  cakes 
for  tea,  to  ascend  to  her  attic,  and  search  for  one  among  her 
hoards. 

"  La  !  Miss  Selina,"  said  Violet,  "  what  can  put  you  in  such 
a  pheeze  about  a  cent  ?" 

"  I  have  borrowed  a  cent  of  Mr.  Robertson/'  replied  Selina, 
"  and  I  wish  to  return  it  immediately." 

"Well,  now,  if  ever!"  exclaimed  Violet;  "why,  if  that's 
all,  I  count  it  the  same  as  nothing,  and  gamer.  To  be  sure 
he  is  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  take  a  cent  from  a  lady. 
Why,  what's  a  cent  ?" 

"  I  hope/'  replied  Selina,  "  that  he  is  too  much  of  a  gentle 
man  to  refuse  to  take  it." 

"I  lay  you  what  you  please/'  resumed  Violet,  "that  if  you 
go  to  offer  him  that  cent,  you'll  'front  him  out  of  the  house. 
Why,  when  any  of  us  borrows  a  copper  of  Ovid,  we  never 
thinks  of  paying  him." 

"True  enough,"  said  Ovid,  half  aside;  "and  that's  the 
reason  I  most  always  take  care  never  to  have  no  coppers  about 
me." 

Selina  now  heard  her  father's  voice  in  the  parlour;  and  glad 
that  he  had  come  home,  she  hastened  to  obtain  from  him  the 
much-desired  coin.  She  found  him  earnestly  engaged  in  discuss 
ing  the  Bank  of  the  United  States  to  Mr.  Robertson,  who  was 
on  the  verge  of  departure.  She  went  softly  behind  her  father, 
and  in  a  low  voice  asked  him  for  a  cent ;  but  he  was  talking 
so  busily  that  he  did  not  hear  her.  She  repeated  the  request. 
"Presently — presently,"  said  Mr.  Mansel,  "another  time  will 
do  as  well."  Mr.  Robertson  then  made  his  parting  bow  to 
Selina,  who,  disconcerted  at  being  baffled  in  all  her  attempts 
to  get  rid  of  her  little  debt,  coloured  excessively,  and  could 
not  make  an  articulate  reply  to  his  "  Good  afternoon,  Miss 
Mansel." 

When  her  father  returned  from  escorting  his  guest  to  the 
door,  he  recollected  her  request,  and  said — "  What  were  you 
asking  me,  Selina  ?  I  think  I  heard  you  say  something  about 
money.  But  never  interrupt  me  when  I  am  talking  of  the 
bank." 

Selina  then  made  her  explanation. 

"You  know,"  replied  Mr.  Mansel,  "that  I  have  always 


JOHN   W.   ROBERTSON.  205 

told  you  to  avoid  a  debt  as  you  would  a  sin ;  and  I  have  also 
cautioned  you  never  to  allow  yourself  to  be  without  all  the 
varieties  of  small  change." 

He  then  gave  her  a  handful  of  this  convenient  article,  in 
cluding  half  a  dozen  cents,  saying,  "  There,  now,  do  not  for 
get  to  pay  Mr.  Robertson  the  first  time  you  see  him." 

"  Certainly,  I  will  not  forget  it,"  replied  Selina ;  "  for,  trifle 
as  it  is,  I  shall  not  feel  at  peace  while  it  remains  on  my  mind." 

On  the  following  afternoon  Selina  went  out  with  her  father 
to  take  a  ride  on  horseback ;  and  when  they  returned  they 
found  on  the  centre  table  the  card  of  John  W.  Robertson. 
"Another  contretems,"  cried  Selina.  "He  has  been  here 
again,  and  I  have  not  seen  him  to  pay  him  the  cent  I" 

"  Send  it  to  him  by  Ovid,"  said  Mr.  Mansel. 

"  Send  such  a  trifle  to  a  gentleman  !"  exclaimed  Selina. 

"  Certainly,"  replied  her  father.  "  Even  in  the  smallest 
trifles,  it  is  best  to  be  correct  and  punctual.  You  know  I 
have  always  told  you  so." 

Selina  left  the  room  for  the  purpose  of  despatching  Ovid 
with  the  cent,  but  Ovid  had  gone  out  on  some  affairs  of  his 
own,  and  when  she  returned  to  the  parlour  she  found  two 
young  ladies  there,  whose  visit  was  not  over  till  nearly  dusk. 
By  that  time  Ovid  was  engaged  in  setting  the  tea-table ;  a 
business  from  which  nothing  could  ever  withdraw  him  till  all 
its  details  were  slowly  and  minutely  accomplished. 

"  It  will  be  time  enough  after  tea,"  said  Selina,  who,  like 
most  young  housekeepers,  was  somewhat  in  awe  of  her  servants. 
When  tea  was  over  both  in  parlour  and  kitchen  (and  by  the 
members  of  the  lower  house  that  business  was  never  accom 
plished  without  a  long  session),  Ovid  was  despatched  to  the 
hotel  with  "  Miss  Mansel's  compliments  to  Mr.  Robertson,  and 
the  cent  that  she  had  borrowed  of  him."  It  was  long  before 
Ovid  came  back,  and  he  then  brought  word  that  Mr.  Robert 
son  was  out,  but  that  he  had  left  the  cent  with  Mr.  Muddler, 
the  barkeeper. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Selina,  "  the  barkeeper  will  give  it  to 
Mr.  Robertson  as  soon  as  he  returns." 

"  I  have  my  doubts,"  replied  Ovid. 

"  Why  ?"  asked  Selina;  "  why  should  you  suppose  other 
wise  r 

"  Because,"  answered  Ovid,  "  Mr.  Muddler  is  a  very  doubty 
sort  of  man.  That  is,  he's  always  to  be  doubted  of.  I  lived 
at  the  hotel  once,  and  I  know  all  about  him.  He  don't  mind 


206  JOHN   \V.    ROBERTSON. 

trifles,  and  he  never  remembers  nothing.  I  guess  Mr.  Ro 
bertson  won't  be  apt  to  get  the  cent :  for  afore  I  left  the  bar, 
I  saw  Muddler  give  it  away  in  change  to  a  man  that  came  for 
a  glass  of  punch.  And  I'm  sure  that  Muddler  won't  never 
think  no  more  about  it.  I  could  be  as  good  as  qualified  that 
he  won't." 

"  How  very  provoking  !"  cried  Selina, 

"  You  should  have  sealed  it  up  in  a  piece  of  paper,  and  di 
rected  it  to  Mr.  Robertson,"  said  her  father,  raising  his  eyes 
from  the  newspaper  in  which  he  had  been  absorbed  for  the 
last  hour.  "  Whatever  is  to  be  done  at  all,  should  always  be 
done  thoroughly." 

"  Yes,  miss,"  said  Ovid,  "you  know  that's  what  your  de 
parted  aunt  always  told  you  :  partikaly  when  you  were  stoning 
reasons  for  plum-cake." 

Selina  was  now  at  a  complete  loss  what  course  to  pursue. 
Thfe  cent  was  in  itself  a  trifle ;  but  there  had  been  so  much 
difficulty  about  it,  that  it  seemed  to  have  swelled  into  an  ob 
ject  of  importance :  and  from  this  time  her  repugnance  to 
speaking  of  it  to  Mr.  Robertson,  or  to  any  one  else,  became 
almost  insurmountable. 

On  the  following  morning,  her  father  told  her  that  he  had 
met  Mr.  Robertson  at  the  Post  Office,  and  had  been  told  by 
him  that  he  should  do  himself  the  pleasure  of  making  a  morn 
ing  call.  "  Therefore,  Selina,  I  shall  leave  you  to  entertain 
him,"  said  Mr.  Mansel,  "for  I  have  made  an  appointment 
with  Mr.  Thinwall  this  morning,  to  go  with  him  to  look  at  a 
block  of  houses  he  is  anxious  to  sell  me." 

Selina  repaired  to  her  room  to  get  her  sewing  :  and  taking 
a  cent  from  her  purse,  she  laid  it  in  her  work-basket  and 
went  down  stairs  to  be  ready  for  the  visit  of  Mr.  Robertson. 
While  waiting  for  him,  she  happened  to  look  at  the  cent,  and 
perceived  that  it  was  one  of  the  very  earliest  coinage,  the 
date  being  1793.  She  had  heard  these  cents  described,  but 
had  never  before  seen  one.  The  head  of  Liberty  was  cha 
racterized  by  the  lawless  freedom  of  her  hair,  the  flakes  of 
which  were  all  flying  wildly  back  from  her  forehead  and  cheek, 
and  seemed  to  be  blowing  away  in  a  strong  north-wester ;  and 
she  carried  over  her  shoulder  a  staff  surmounted  with  a  cap. 
On  the  reverse,  there  was  (instead  of  the  olive  wreath)  a  cir 
cular  chain,  whose  links  signified  the  union  of  the  States. 
Our  heroine  was  making  a  collection  of  curious  coins,  and  she 
was  so  strongly  tempted  by  the  opportunity  of  adding  this  to 


JOHN   W.    ROBERTSON.  207 

the  number,  that  she  determined  on  keeping  it  for  that  pur 
pose.  She  was  just  rising  to  go  up  stairs  and  get  another  as 
a  substitute,  when  Mr.  Robertson  entered  the  parlour. 

Selina  was  glad  to  see  him,  hoping  that  this  visit  would 
make  a  final  settlement  of  the  eternal  cent.  But  she  was 
also  struck  with  the  idea  that  it  would  be  very  awkward  to 
ask  him  if  the  barkeeper  had  given  him  the  one  she  had  trans 
mitted  to  him  the  evening  before.  She  feared  that  the  gen 
tleman  might  reply  in  the  affirmative,  even  if  he  had  not 
really  received  it,  and  she  felt  a  persuasion  that  it  had  entirely 
escaped  the  memory  of  Mr.  Muddler.  Not  having  sufficient 
self-possession  to  help  her  out  of  the  difficulty,  she  hastily 
slipped  the  old  cent  back  into  her  work-basket,  and  looked 
confused  and  foolish,  and  answered  incoherently  to  Mr.  Ro 
bertson's  salutation.  He  saw  her  embarrassment,  and  augured 
favourably  from  it :  but  he  cautiously  determined  not  to  allow 
himself  to  proceed  too  rapidly. 

He  commenced  the  conversation  by  informing  her  that 
sugars  had  declined  a  shade,  but  that  coffee  was  active,  and 
cotton  firm ;  and  he  then  prosed  off  into  a  long  mercantile 
story,  of  which  Selina  heard  and  understood  nothing :  her 
ideas,  when  in  presence  of  Mr.  Robertson,  being  now  unable 
to  take  any  other  form  than  that  of  a  piece  of  copper. 

Longing  to  go  for  another  cent,  and  regretting  that  she  had 
not  brought  down  her  purse,  she  sat  uneasy  and  disconcerted  : 
the  delighted  Robertson  pausing  in  the  midst  of  his  tierces  of 
rice,  seroons  of  indigo,  carboys  of  tar,  and  quintals  of  codfish, 
to  look  at  the  heightened  colour  of  her  cheek,  and  to  give  it 
the  interpretation  he  most  desired. 

Selina  had  never  thought  him  so  tiresome.  Just  then  came 
in  Miss  Peepabout  and  Miss  Doublesight,  who,  having  seen 
Mr.  Robertson  through  the  window,  had  a  curiosity  to  ascer 
tain  what  he  was  saying  and  doing  at  Mr.  ManseFs.  These 
two  ladies  were  our  hero's  peculiar  aversion,  as  they  had  both 
presumed  to  lay  siege  to  him,  notwithstanding  that  they  were 
neither  young  nor  handsome.  Therefore,  he  rose  immediately 
and  took  his  leave  :  though  Selina,  in  the  hope  of  still  finding 
an  opportunity  to  discharge  her  debt,  said  to  him,  anxiously : 
"  Do  not  go  yet,  Mr.  Robertson."  This  request  nearly  ele 
vated  the  lover  to  paradise,  but  not  wishing  to  spoil  her  by 
too  much  compliance,  he  persevered  in  departing. 

That  evening  Selina  met  him  at  a  party  given  by  Mrs.  Vin 
cent,  one  of  the  leading  ladies  of  Somerford.  Thinking  of 


208  JOHN   W.   ROBERTSON. 

this  possibility,  and  the  idea  of  Mr.  Robertson  and  a  cent 
having  now  become  synonymous,  our  heroine  tied  a  bright 
new  one  in  the  corner  of  her  pocket-handkerchief,  determined 
to  go  fully  prepared  for  an  opportunity  of  presenting  it  to  him. 
When,  on  arriving  at  Mrs.  Vincent's  house,  she  was  shown  to 
the  ladies'  room,  Selina  discovered  that  the  cent  had  vanished, 
having  slipped  out  from  its  fastening ;  and  after  an  ineffectual 
search  on  the  floor  and  on  the  staircase,  she  concluded  that 
she  must  have  dropped  it  in  the  street.  The  night  was  very 
fine,  and  Mrs.  Vincent's  residence  was  so  near  her  father's, 
that  Selina  had  walked  thither,  and  Mr.  Mansel  (who  had  no 
relish  for  parties),  after  conducting  her  into  the  principal  room, 
and  paying  his  compliments  to  the  hostess,  had  slipped  off,  and 
returned  home  to  seek  a  quiet  game  of  backgammon  with  his 
next-door  neighbour,  telling  his  daughter  that  he  would  come 
for  her  at  eleven  o'clock. 

Our  heroine  was  dressed  with  much  taste,  and  looked  unu 
sually  well.  Mr.  Robertson's  inclination  would  have  led  him 
to  attach  himself  to  Selina  for  the  whole  evening ;  but  con 
vinced  of  the  depth  and  sincerity  of  her  regard  (as  he  per 
ceived  that  she  now  never  saw  him  without  blushing),  he 
deemed  it  politic  to  hold  back,  and  not  allow  himself  to  be 
considered  too  cheap  a  conquest.  Therefore,  after  making  his 
bow,  and  informing  her  that  soap  was  heavy,  but  that  raisins 
were  animated,  and  that  there  was  a  good  feeling  towards  Ha 
vana  cigars,  he  withdrew  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  room. 

But  though  he  divided  his  tediousness  pretty  equally  among 
the  other  ladies,  he  could  not  prevent  his  eyes  from  wandering 
almost  incessantly  towards  Selina,  particularly  when  he  per 
ceived  a  remarkably  handsome  young  man,  Henry  Wynslade, 
engaged  in  a  very  lively  conversation  with  her.  .  Mr.  Wyns- 
lade,  who  had  recently  returned  from  India,  lodged,  for  the 
present,  at  the  hotel  in  which  Robertson  had  located  himself; 
consequently,  our  hero  had  some  acquaintance  with  him. 

Mrs.  Vincent  having  taken  away  Wynslade  to  introduce 
him  to  her  niece,  Mr.  Robertson  immediately  strode  across 
the  room,  and  presented  himself  in  front  of  Seliua.  To  do 
him  justice,  he  had  entirely  forgotten  the  cent :  and  he  meant 
not  the  most  distant  allusion  to  it,  when,  at  the  end  of  a  long 
narrative  about  a  very  close  and  fortunate  bargain  he  had  once 
made  in  rough  turpentine,  he  introduced  the  well-known  adages 
of  "  a  penny  saved  is  a  penny  got/'  and  "  take  care  of  the 
pence  and  the  pounds  will  take  care  of  themselves." 


JOHN   W.    ROBERTSON.  209 

"  Pence  and  cents  are  nearly  the  same/7  thought  the  con 
scious  Selina.  She  had  on  her  plate  some  of  the  little  printed 
rhymes  that,  being  accompanied  by  bonbons,  and  enveloped  in 
coloured  paper,  go  under  the  denomination  of  secrets  or  mot 
toes.  These  delectable  distichs  were  most  probably  the  leisure 
effusions  of  the  poet  kept  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Packwood,  of  razor- 
strop  celebrity,  and  from  their  ludicrous  silliness  frequently 
cause  much  diversion  among  the  younger  part  of  the  company. 

In  her  confusion  on  hearing  Mr.  Robertson  talk  of  pence, 
Selina  began  to  distribute  her  mottoes  among  the  ladies  in  her 
vicinity,  and,  without  looking  at  it,  she  unthinkingly  presented 
one  to  her  admirer,  as  he  stood  stiff  before  her.  A  moment 
after  he  was  led  away  by  Mr.  Vincent,  to  be  introduced  to  a 
stranger :  and  in  a  short  time  the  company  adjourned  to  the 
supper-room. 

The  ladies  were  all  seated,  and  the  gentlemen  were  standing 
round,  and  Selina  was  not  aware  of  her  proximity  to  Mr.  Ro 
bertson  till  she  overheard  him  say  to  young  Wynsdale — UA 
most  extraordinary  circumstance  has  happened  to  me  this 
evening." 

"  What  is  it  ?"  cried  Wynslade. 

"  I  have  received  a  declaration." 

"  A  declaration  !     Of  what  ?" 

"  I  have  indeed,"  pursued  Robertson, (e  a  declaration  of  love. 
To  be  sure,  I  have  been  somewhat  prepared  for  it.  When  a 
lady  blushes,  and  shows  evident  signs  of  confusion,  whenever 
she  meets  a  gentleman,  there  is  good  reason  to  believe  that 
her  heart  is  really  touched.  Is  there  not  ?" 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Wynslade,  smiling. 

"  You  conclude  then  that  the  lady  must  love  him  for  him 
self,  and  not  for  his  property  ?"  inquired  Robertson. 

"Ladies  who  are  influenced  only  by  mercenary  considera 
tions,"  replied  Wynslade,  "  seldom  feel  much  embarrassment 
in  the  presence  of  any  gentleman." 

"  There  is  no  forcing  a  blush — is  there  ?"  asked  Robertson. 

"  I  should  think  not,'7  answered  Wynslade,  wondering  to 
what  all  this  would  tend. 

"To  tell  you  a  secret,"  resumed  Robertson,  "I  have  proof 
positive  that  I  have  made  a  serious  impression  on  a  very  beau 
tiful  young  lady.  You  need  not  smile,  Mr.  Wynslade,  for  I 
can  show  you  something  that  was  presented  to  me  the  other 
day  by  herself,  after  first  pressing  it  repeatedly  to  her  lips." 

He  then  took  out  of  his  waistcoat  pocket  the  paper  that 


210  JOHN   W.   ROBERTSON. 

contained  the  remnant  of  the  camellia  japonica,  adding,  "  I 
can  assure  you  that  this  flower  was  given  me  by  the  prettiest 
girl  in  the  room." 

The  eyes  of  Wynslade  were  involuntarily  directed  to  Se- 
lina. 

"  You  are  right/'  resumed  Robertson.  "  That  is  the  very 
lady,  Miss  Selina  Mansel." 

"  Can  it  be  possible  I"  exclaimed  Wynslade.  "  Is  this  the 
lady  that  blushes  at  you  ?  Did  she  give  you  the  flower  ?" 

"  Yes,  she  did,"  replied  Robertson.  "  A  true  bill,  I  assure 
you.  The  flower  was  her  gift,  and  she  has  just  presented  me 
with  a  piece  of  poetry  that  is  still  more  pointed.  And  yet, 
between  ourselves,  I  think  it  strange  that  so  young  a  lady 
should  not  have  had  patience  to  wait  for  a  declaration  on  my 
part.  I  wonder  that  she  should  be  the  first  to  break  the  ice. 
However,  I  suppose  it  is  only  a  stronger  evidence  of  her  par 
tiality." 

"  And  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?"  asked  Wynslade. 

"  Oh  !  I  shall  take  her,"  answered  Robertson.  "  At  least 
I  think  I  shall.  To  be  sure,  I  have  been  so  short  a  time  in 
Somerford,  that  I  have  scarcely  yet  had  an  opportunity  of 
ascertaining  the  state  of  the  market.  But,  besides  her  being 
an  only  child,  with  a  father  that  is  likely  to  come  down  hand 
somely,  she  is  very  young  and  very  pretty,  and  will  in  every 
respect  suit  me  exactly.  However,  I  shall  proceed  with  due 
circumspection.  It  is  bad  policy  to  be  too  alert  on  these  occa 
sions.  It  will  be  most  prudent  to  keep  her  in  suspense 
awhile." 

"  Insufferable  coxcomb  !"  thought  Wynslade.  However, 
he  checked  his  contempt  and  indignation  so  far  as  to  say  with 
tolerable  calmness — "  Mr.  Robertson,  there  must  be  certainly 
some  mistake.  Before  I  went  to  India,  I  knew  something  of 
Miss  Mansel  and  her  family,  and  I  reproach  myself  for  not 
having  sought  to  renew  my  acquaintance  with  them  immedi 
ately  on  my  return.  She  was  a  mere  child  when  I  last  saw 
her  before  my  departure.  Still,  I  know  from  the  manner  in 
which  she  has  been  brought  up,  that  it  is  utterly  impossible 
she  should  have  given  you  any  real  cause  to  suspect  her  of  a 
partiality,  which,  after  all,  you  seem  incapable  of  appreciat 
ing." 

"  Suspect !"  exclaimed  Robertson,  warmly;  "suspect,  in 
deed  !  Blushes  and  confusion  you  acknowledge  to  be  certain 
signs.  And  then  there  is  the  flower — and  then — " 


JOHN    W.    ROBERTSON.  211 

u  Where  is  the  piece  of  poetry  you  talked  of  ?"  said  Wyn- 
slade. 

"  Here,"  replied  Robertson,  showing  him  the  motto — "here 
it  is — read — and  confess  it  to  be  proof  positive/' 

Wynslade  took  the  slip,  and  read  on  it — 

"  To  gain  a  look  of  your  sweet  face, 
I'd  walk  three  times  round  the  market-place." 

"  Ridiculous  !"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  returned  the  couplet  to 
Robertson,  the  course  of  his  ideas  changing  in  a  moment. 
The  whole  affair  now  appeared  to  him  in  so  ludicrous  a  light 
that  he  erroneously  imagined  Selina  to  have  been  all  the  time 
diverting  herself  at  Mr.  Robertson's  expense.  He  looked 
towards  her  with  a  smile  of  intelligence,  and  was  surprised  to 
find  that  she  had  set  down  her  almost  untasted  ice-cream,  and 
was  changing  colour,  from  red  to  pale,  evidently  overwhelmed 
with  confusion. 

"  There,"  said  Robertson,  looking  significantly  from  Selina 
to  Wynslade,  "  I  told  you  so — only  see  her  cheeks.  No  doubt 
she  has  overheard  all  we  have  been  saying." 

Selina  had,  indeed,  overheard  the  whole ;  for  notwithstand 
ing  the  talking  of  the  ladies  who  were  near  her,  her  attention 
had  been  the  whole  time  riveted  to  the  conversation  that  was 
going  on  between  Robertson  and  Wynslade.  Her  first  impulse 
was  to  quit  her  seat,  to  go  at  once  to  Robertson,  and  to  explain 
to  him  his  mistake.  But  she  felt  the  difficulty  of  making 
such  an  effort  in  a  room  full  of  company,  and  to  the  youthful 
simplicity  of  her  mind  that  difficulty  was  enhanced  by  the 
want  of  a  cent  to  put  into  his  hand  at  the  same  time. 

Still,  she  was  so  extremely  discomfited,  that  every  moment 
seemed  to  her  an  age  till  she  could  have  an  opportunity  of 
undeceiving  him.  She  sat  pale  and  silent  till  Robertson  step 
ped  up  and  informed  her  that  she  seemed  quite  below  par ; 
and  Wynslade,  who  followed  him,  observed  that  "  Miss  Man- 
sel  was  probably  incommoded  by  the  heat  of  the  room." 

"  Oh,  yes  !"  she  exclaimed,  scarcely  conscious  of  what  she 
was  saying ;  "  it  is,  indeed,  too  warm — and  here  is  such  a 
crowd — and  I  am  so  fatigued — I  wish  it  were  eleven  o'clock — 
I  wish  my  father  was  here  to  take  me  home." 

Both  gentlemen  at  once  volunteered  their  services }  but  Se 
lina,  struck  with  the  idea  that  during  their  walk  she  should 
have  a  full  opportunity  of  making  her  explanation  to  Mr. 
Robertson,  immediately  started  up;  and  said  she  would  avail 
18 


212  JOHN   W.    ROBERTSON. 

herself  of  his  offer.  Robertson  now  cast  a  triumphant  glance 
at  Wynslade,  who  returned  it  with  a  look  of  disgust,  and 
walked  away,  saying  to  himself,  "What  an  incomprehensible 
being  is  woman  ! — I  begin  to  despise  the  whole  sex  I" 

Selina  then  took  leave  of  her  hostess,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
found  herself  on  her  way  home  with  Mr.  Robertson. 

"  Mr.  Robertson,"  said  she,  in  a  hurried  voice,  "  I  have 
something  particular  to  say  to  you." 

"  Now  it  is  coming,"  thought  Robertson ;  "  but  I  will  take 
care  not  to  meet  her  half  way."  Then  speaking  aloud — "  It 
is  a  fine  moonlight  evening,"  said  he  :  "  that  is  probably  what 
you  are  going  to  observe." 

"  You  are  under  a  serious  mistake,"  continued  Selina. 

"I  believe  not,"  pursued  Robertson,  looking  up.  "  The  sky 
is  quite  clear,  and  the  moon  is  at  the  full." 

" Nonsense!"  exclaimed  Selina. 

"  I  am  fond  of  moonlight,"  persisted  Robertson ;  "  and  I  am 
extremely  flattered  at  your  giving  me  an  opportunity  of  enjoy 
ing  it  with  you."  Here  he  stopped  short,  fearing  that  he  had 
said  too  much. 

"  My  only  motive,"  said  Selina,  "  for  accepting  your  offer 
of  escorting  me  home,  was  that  I  might  have  an  opportunity 
of  explaining  to  you."  Here  she  paused. 

"  Take  your  time,  Miss  Selina,"  said  Robertson,  trying  to 
soften  his  voice.  "  I  do  not  wish  you  to  hurry  yourself.  I 
can  wait  very  well  for  the  explanation  till  to-morrow." 

"  No,  you  shall  not,"  said  Selina ;  "  I  must  make  it  at  once, 
for  I  shall  be  unable  to  sleep  to-night  till  I  have  relieved  my 
mind  from  it." 

"  Surely,"  thought  Robertson  to  himself,  "young  ladies 
now-a-days  are  remarkably  forward.  Well,  then,  Miss  Man- 
sel,"  speaking  aloud,  "  proceed  at  once  to  the  point.  I  am  all 
attention." 

Selina  still  hesitated — "Really,"  said  she,  "I  know  not 
how  to  express  myself." 

"  No  doubt  of  it,"  he  replied ;  "  young  ladies,  I  suppose, 
are  not  accustomed  to  being  very  explicit  on  these  occasions. 
However,  I  can  understand — '  A  word  to  the  wise/  you  know : 
but  the  truth  is,  for  my  own  part,  I  have  not  quite  made  up 
my  mind.  You  are  sensible  that  our  acquaintance  is  of  very 
recent  date :  a  wife  is  not  a  bill  to  be  accepted  at  sight 
You  know  the  proverb — l  Marry  in  haste  and  repent  at  lei 
sure.'  However,  I  think  you  may  draw  on  me  at  sixty  days. 


JOHN   W.    ROBERTSON.  213 

And  now  that  I  have  acknowledged  the  receipt  of  your  ad 
dresses" 

Selina  interrupted  him  with  vehemence — "  Mr.  Robert 
son,  what  are  you  talking  about  ?  You  are  certainly  not  in 
your  senses.  You  are  mistaken,  I  tell  you — it  is  no  such 
thing." 

"  Come,  Miss  Hansel,"  said  Robertson,  "  do  not  fly  from 
your  offer :  it  is  too  late  for  what  they  call  coquetry — actions 
speak  louder  than  words.  If  I  must  be  plain,  why  so  much 
embarrassment  whenever  we  meet?  To  say  nothing  of  the 
flower  you  gave  me — and  that  little  verse,  which  speaks  vo 
lumes" 

"  Speaks  nonsense  \"  cried  Selina  :  "  Is  it  possible  you  can 

be  so  absurd  as  to  suppose" Then  bursting  into  tears  of 

vexation,  she  exclaimed — "  Oh  that  I  had  a  cent  I" 

"  A  cent  \"  said  Robertson,  much  surprised.  "  Is  it  possible 
you  are  crying  for  a  cent  ?" 

"Yes,  I  am,"  answered  Selina;  "just  now,  that  is  all  I 
want  on  earth !" 

<e  Well,  then,"  said  Robertson,  taking  one  out  of  his  pocket, 
"you  shall  cry  for  it  no  longer :  here's  one  for  you." 

"  This  won't  do — this  won't  do  !"  sobbed  Selina. 

"Why,  I  am  sure  it  is  a  good  cent,"  said  Robertson,  "just 
like  any  other." 

"No,"  cried  Selina,  "your  giving  me  another  cent  only 
makes  things  worse." 

By  this  time  they  were  in  sight  of  Mr.  Hansel's  door,  and 
Selina  perceived  something  on  the  pavement  glittering  in  the 
moonlight.  "  Ah  !"  she  exclaimed,  taking  it  up,  "  this  must 
be  the  very  cent  I  dropped  on  my  way  to  Mrs.  Vincent's. 
I  know  it  by  its  being  quite  a  new  one.  How  glad  I  am  to 
find  it !" 

"Well,"  said  Robertson,  "I  have  heard  of  ladies  taking 
cents  to  church ;  but  I  never  knew  before  that  they  had  any  oc 
casion  for  them  at  tea-parties.  And,  by-the-bye  (as  I  have  often 
told  my  friend  Pennychink  the  vestryman),  that  practice  of 
handing  a  money-box  round  the  church  in  service-time,  is  one 
of  the  meanest  things  I  know,  and  I  wonder  how  any  man  that 
is  a  gentleman  can  bring  himself  to  do  it." 

"And  now,  Mr.  Robertson,"  said  Selina,  hastily  wiping  her 
eyes,  "  have  you  forgotten  that  I  borrowed  a  cent  of  you  the 
other  day  at  Mr.  Stretchlace's  store  ?" 


214  JOHN    W.    KOBERTSON. 

"  I  had  forgotten  it,"  answered  Robertson ;  "  but  I  recol 
lect  it  now." 

"  That  cent  was  never  returned  to  you/'  said  Selina. 

"  It  was  not,"  replied  Robertson,  looking  surprised. 

"  There  it  is,"  continued  our  heroine,  as  she  gave  it  to  him. 
"  Now  that  I  see  it  in  your  hand,  I  have  courage  to  explain 
all.  My  father  and  my  aunt  have  taught  me  to  dread  con 
tracting  even  the  smallest  debt.  Therefore,  I  could  not  feel 
at  ease  till  I  had  repaid  your  cent.  Several  untoward  circum 
stances  have  since  prevented  my  giving  it  to  you,  though  I 
can  assure  you,  that  whenever  we  met  it  was  seldom  absent 
from  my  mind.  This  was  the  real  cause  of  the  embarrass 
ment  or  confusion  you  talk  of.  When  I  gave  you  the  flower, 
and  afterwards  that  foolish  motto,  I  was  thinking  so  much 
of  the  unlucky  cent  as  to  be  scarcely  conscious  of  what  I 
was  doing.  Believe  me  when  I  repeat  to  you  that  this  is  the 
whole  truth  of  what  you  have  so  strangely  misinterpreted." 

"  Is  it  possible  !"  exclaimed  Robertson :  "  and  was  there 
nothing  in  it  but  a  paltry  bit  of  copper,  when  I  thought  all 
the  time  that  I  had  at  last  met  with  a  young  lady  who  loved 
me  for  myself,  and  not  for  my  bank-stock,  and  my  real  estate, 
and  my  railroad  shares  !" 

{l  For  neither,  I  can  assure  you,"  said  Selina,  gayly  ]  li  bufc 
I  shall  be  very  glad  to  hear  that  yourself,  and  your  bank- 
stock,  and  your  real  estate,  »and  your  railroad  shares,  have 
become  the  property  of  a  lady  of  better  taste  than  myself." 

They  had  been  for  some  time  on  the  steps  of  Mr.  ManseFs 
door,  and  before  he  rung  the  bell,  Robertson  said  to  Selina  : 
"  Well,  however,  you  know  I  did  not  actually  come  to  a  pro 
posal  ?" 

"  Not  exactly,"  replied  Selina,  smiling. 

"  Therefore,  you  will  not  tell  everybody  that  you  refused 
me?" 

"  I  will  not,  indeed,"  answered  Selina.  "  And  now,  then, 
allow  me  to  bid  you  adieu  in  the  words  of  the  song — l  Good 
night— all's  well !'  n 

She  then  tripped  into  the  parlour,  where  she  found  her 
father  just  preparing  to  come  for  her;  and  having  made  him 
very  merry  with  her  account  of  the  events  of  the  evening,  she 
went  to  bed  with  a  light  heart. 

Mr.  Robertson  returned  sullenly  to  his  hotel,  as  much  cha 
grined  as  a  man  of  his  obtuse  feelings  could  possibly  be. 
And  he  was  the  more  vexed  at  losing  Selina,  as  he  conceived 


JOHN   W.   ROBERTSON.  215 

that  a  woman  who  could  give  herself  so  much  uneasiness  on 
account  of  a  cent,  would  consequently  make  a  good  wife. 
The  more  he  thought  of  this,  the  better  he  liked  her :  and 
next  morning,  when  Henry  Wynslade  inquired  of  him  the 
progress  of  wooing,  Robertson  not  having  invention  enough 
to  gloss  over  the  truth,  told  him  the  facts  as  they  really  were, 
and  asked  his  companion's  opinion  of  the  possibility  of  yet 
obtaining  Miss  Mansel. 

"  Try  again  by  all  means,"  said  Wynslade,  who  was  curious  to 
see  how  this  business  would  end.  "  There  is  no  knowing  what 
may  be  the  effect  of  a  direct  proposal — the  ladies  never  like 
us  the  better  for  proceeding  slowly  and  cautiously :  so  now 
for  a  point-blank  shot." 

"  It  shall  be  conveyed  in  a  letter,  then,"  replied  Robertson ; 
"  I  have  always  found  it  best,  in  matters  of  business,  to  put 
down  everything  in  black  and  white." 

"  Do  it  at  once,  then,"  said  Wynslade :  "  I  have  some 
thoughts  of  Miss  Mansel  myself,  and  perhaps  I  may  cut  you 
out." 

"I  doubt  that,"  replied  Robertson;  "you  are  but  com 
mencing  business,  and  my  fortune  is  already  made." 

"  I  thought,"  observed  Wynslade,  "  you  would  marry  only 
on  condition  of  being  loved  for  yourself  alone." 

"  I  have  given  up  that  hope,"  answered  Robertson,  with  a 
sort  of  sigh :  "  however,  I  was  certainly  a  very  pretty  baby. 
I  fear  I  must  now  be  content  to  take  a  wife  on  the  usual 
terms." 

"  Be  quick,  then,  with  your  proposal,"  said  Wynslade,  "  for 
I  am  impatient  to  make  mine." 

Wynslade  then  departed,  and  Robertson  placed  himself  at 
his  desk,  and  in  a  short  time  despatched  to  our  heroine  the 
following  epistle,  taking  care  to  keep  a  copy  of  it : 

"  Miss  SELINA  MANSEL  : — Your  statement  last  night  was 
duly  attended  to ;  but  further  consideration  may  give  another 
turn  to  the  business.  The  following  terms  are  the  best  I  think 
proper  to  offer : 

"  One  Town  House — 1  Country  House — 4  Servants — 2 
Horses — 1  Carriage — 1  Chaise — 1  Set  of  Jewels — 1  New 
Dress  per  Month— 4  Bonnets  per  Ann. — 1  Tea-party  on  your 
Birth-day — Ditto  on  mine — 1  Dinner-party  on  each  anniver 
sary  of  our  Wedding-day,  till  further  orders — 2  Plays  per 
Season — and  half  an  Opera. 
18* 


216  JOHN   W.   ROBERTSON. 

"  If  you  are  not  satisfied  with  the  T.  H.  and  the  C.  H.  you 
may  take  1  trip  per  summer  to  the  Springs  or  the  Sea-shore. 
If  the  Parties  on  the  B.  D.'s  and  the  W.  D.  are  not  deemed 
sufficient,  you  may  have  sundry  others. 

"  On  your  part  I  only  stipulate  for  a  dish  of  rice  always  at 
dinner,  black  tea,  6  cigars  per  day,  to  be  smoked  by  me  with 
out  remark  from  you — newspapers,  chess,  and  sundries.  Your 
politics  to  be  always  the  same  as  mine.  No  gentlemen  under 
fifty  to  be  received,  except  at  parties.  No  musician  to  be 
allowed  to  enter  the  house ;  nor  any  young  doctor. 

"  If  you  conclude  to  close  with  these  conditions,  let  me  have 
advice  of  it  as  soon  as  convenient,  that  I  may  wait  upon  you 
without  loss  of  time. 

"  Your  most  obt.  servt. 

JOHN  W.  ROBERTSON. 

"N.  B.  It  may  be  well  to  mention,  that  with  respect  to 
furniture,  I  cannot  allow  a  piano,  considering  them  as  nui 
sances.  Shall  not  object  to  any  reasonable  number  of  sofas  and 
rocking-chairs. — Astral  lamps  at  discretion. — Beg  to  call  your 
attention  to  the  allowance  of  gowns  and  bonnets. — Consider 
it  remarkably  liberal. — With  respect  to  dress,  sundries  of 


To  this  letter  half  an  hour  brought  a  concise  answer,  con 
taining  a  civil  but  decided  refusal,  which  Mr.  Robertson, 
though  quite  crest-fallen,  could  not  forbear  showing  to  Wyns- 
lade,  telling  him  that  he  now  withdrew  from  the  market.  On 
the  following  morning  our  hero  left  Somerford  on  a  tour  to 
Canada. 

Wynslade  immediately  laid  siege  to  Selina  Mansel,  and 
being  young,  handsome,  intelligent,  and  very  much  in  love, 
he  found  little  difficulty  in  obtaining  her  heart  and  hand. 

After  their  marriage  the  young  couple  continued  to  live 
with  Mr.  Mansel,  who  since  the  affair  of  Robertson  has  taken 
especial  care  that  Selina  shall  always  be  well  supplied  with 
cents,  frequently  procuring  her  from  the  bank  five  dollars* 
worth  at  a  time. 

John  W.  Robertson  finally  established  himself  in  one  of  the 
large  Atlantic  cities ;  and  in  process  of  time  his  vanity  reco 
vered  from  the  shock  that  had  been  given  it  by  Miss  Mansel. 
He  has  lately  married  a  young  widow,  who  being  dependent 
with  her  five  children  on  the  bounty  of  her  sister's  husband, 
in  whose  house  she  lived  with  all  her  family,  had  address 
enough  to  persuade  him  that  she  loved  him  for  himself  alone. 


THE  LADIES'  BALL. 


"  Then,  thrilling  to  the  harp's  gay  sound, 

So  sweetly  rung  each  vaulted  wall, 
And  echoed  light  the  dancer's  bound, 

As  mirth  and  music  cheer'd  the  hall." — SCOTT, 

THE  gentlemen  who  were  considered  as  the  elite  of  a  certain 
city  that  shall  be  nameless,  had  been  for  some  years  in  the 

Eractice  of  giving,  about  Christmas,  a  splendid  ball  to  the 
dies  of  the  same  circle.     But  at  the  period  from  which  we 
date  the  commencement  of  our  story,  Christmas  was  fast  ap 
proaching,  and  there  had,  as  yet,  been  no  intimation  of  the 
usual  practical  compliment. 

Conjecture  was  busy  among  the  ladies  as  to  the  cause  of 
this  extraordinary  defection ;  but  it  was  most  generally  attri 
buted  to  the  palpable  fact  that  the  attention  of  the  gentlemen 
had  been  recently  directed  to  a  very  different  channel.  In 
short,  the  beaux  were  now  taking  vast  strides  in  the  march 
of  intellect,  pioneered  by  certain  newly  popular  lecturers  in 
various  departments  of  science.  The  pursuit  of  knowledge, 
both  useful  and  useless,  had  become  the  order  of  the  day. 
Profound  were  the  researches  into  those  mysteries  of  nature 
that  in  this  world  can  never  be  elucidated :  and  long  and 
elaborate  were  the  dissertations  on  points  that,  when  estab 
lished,  would  not  be  worth  a  farthing. 

The  "beaux  turned  savans,"  had  formed  themselves  into 
an  association  to  which  they  had  given  a  polysyllabic  name  of 
Greek  etymology,  and  beyond  the  power  of  female  tongue  to 
pronounce,  or  of  female  hand  to  write  ]  but  a  very  young  girl 
designated  it  as  the  Fee-faw-fum  Society.  They  hired  a  spare 
room  in  one  of  the  public  buildings,  and  assembled  there  "  in 

(217) 


218  THE  LADIES'  BALL. 

close  divan"  on  stated  nights  when  there  were  no  evening 
lectures :  several  of  the  ologists  holding  forth  to  their  classes 
of  afternoons. 

One  seemingly  indispensable  instructor  brought  up  the  rear 
of  the  host  of  lecturers,  and  this  was  a  professor  of  mnemonics : 
that  is,  a  gentleman  who  gave  lessons  in  memory,  pledging 
himself  to  furnish  the  minds  of  his  pupils  with  a  regular  set 
of  springs,  which  as  soon  as  touched  would  instantly  unlock 
the  treasures  of  knowledge  that  were  laid  up  in  "the  store 
house  of  the  brain  :"  the  springs  being  acted  upon  by  certain 
sheets  of  engraved  and  coloured  hieroglyphics,  some  of  which 
were  numerical  figures,  others  represented  trees  and  houses,  and 
cats  and  dogs,  much  in  the  style  of  what  children  call  primer 
pictures.  Some  of  our  readers  may,  perhaps,  recollect  this 
professor,  who  made  the  circuit  of  the  Union  a  few  years  since. 

There  seemed  but  two  objections  to  this  system,  one  being 
that  the  hieroglyphics  and  their  key  were  harder  to  remember 
than  the  things  they  were  to  remind  you  of :  the  other,  that 
they  were  frequently  to  be  understood  by  contraries,  like  the 
Hetman  in  Count  Benyowsky,  whose  characteristic  phraseo 
logy  is — "  When  I  say  the  garret,  I  mean  the  cellar — when  I 
tell  you  to  go  up,  I  mean  you  to  come  down." 

The  professor  of  mnemonics  was  very  unpopular  with  the 
ladies,  who  asserted,  that  he  had  done  the  gentlemen  more 
harm  than  good,  by  so  puzzling  their  already  overcharged  heads, 
that  he,  in  many  instances,  destroyed  what  little  memory  they 
had  once  possessed.  This  was  particularly  the  case  with  regard 
to  Mr.  Slowman,  who  having,  at  length,  proposed  in  form  to 
Miss  Tremor,  and  the  lady,  in  her  agitation,  being  unable  at 
the  moment  to  give  him  an  intelligible  answer,  he  had  never 
remembered  to  press  his  suit  any  further. 

One  thing  was  certain,  that  since  the  gentlemen  had  been 
taking  lessons  in  memory,  they  seemed  totally  to  have  forgot 
ten  the  annual  ball. 

Yet,  as  the  time  drew  near,  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  its 
frequently  entering  their  minds,  from  their  steadily  avoiding 
all  reference  to  the  subject.  There  was  evidently  a  tacit  un 
derstanding  among  them,  that  it  was  inexpedient  to  mention 
the  ball.  But  the  ice  was  at  last  broken  by  Gordon  Fitzsini- 
mons,  as  they  were  all  standing  round  the  fire,  and  adjusting 
their  cloaks  and  surtouts,  at  the  close  of  one  of  their  society 
meetings. 


THE  LADIES'  BALL.  219 

"  Is  it  not  time/'  said  he,  "  that  we  should  begin  to  prepare 
for  the  Christmas  ball  ?" 

There  was  a  silence — at  last,  one  of  the  young  gentlemen 
spoke,  and  replied — "  that  he  had  long  since  come  to  a  con 
clusion  that  dancing  was  a  very  foolish  thing,  and  that  there 
was  something  extremely  ridiculous  in  seeing  a  room-full  of 
men  and  women  jumping  about  to  the  sound  of  a  fiddle.  In 
short,  he  regarded  it  as  an  amusement  derogatory  to  the  dig 
nity  of  human  nature." 

He  was  interrupted  in  the  midst  of  his  philippic  by  Fitz- 
simmons,  who  advised  him  to  "  consider  it  not  so  deeply/' 
Now,  Fitzsimmons  was  himself  an  excellent  dancer,  very  popu 
lar  as  a  partner,  conscious  of  looking  well  in  a  ball-room,  and 
therefore  a  warm  advocate  for  "  the  poetry  of  motion." 

Another  of  the  young  philosophers  observed,  "  that  he  saw 
neither  good  nor  harm  in  dancing,  considered  merely  as  an 
exercise :  but  that  he  was  now  busily  engaged  in  writing  a 
treatise  on  the  Milky  Way,  the  precise  nature  of  which  he 
had  undoubtedly  discovered,  and  therefore  he  had  no  leisure 
to  attend  to  the  ball  or  the  ladies." 

A  second,  who  was  originally  from  Norridgewock,  in  the 
state  of  Maine,  protested  that  almost  every  moment  of  his 
time  was  now  occupied  in  lithographing  his  drawings  for  the 
Flora  Norridgewockiana,  a  work  that  would  constitute  an  im 
portant  accession  to  the  science  of  botany,  and  which  he  was 
shortly  going  to  publish. 

A  third  declared  frankly,  that  instead  of  subscribing  to  the 
ball,  he  should  devote  all  his  spare  cash  to  a  much  more 
rational  purpose,  that  of  purchasing  a  set  of  geological  speci 
mens  from  the  Himalaya  Mountains.  A  fifth,  with  equal  can 
dour,  announced  a  similar  intention  with  regard  to  a  box  of 
beetles  lately  arrived  from  Van  Diemen's  Land. 

A  sixth  was  deeply  and  unremittingly  employed  in  compos 
ing  a  history  of  the  Muskogee  Indians,  in  which  work  he  would 
prove  to  demonstration  that  they  were  of  Hussian  origin,  as 
their  name  denotes  :  Muskogee  being  evidently  a  corruption 
of  Muscovite ;  just  as  the  Tuscaroras  are  undoubtedly  of  Ita 
lian  descent,  the  founders  of  their  tribe  having,  of  course,  come 
over  from  Tuscany. 

And  a  seventh  (who  did  things  on  a  large  scale)  could  not 
possibly  give  his  attention  to  a  ball  or  anything  else,  till  he 
had  finished  a  work  which  would  convince  the  world  that  the 


THE  LADIES'  BALL. 

whole  Atlantic  Ocean  was  once  land,  and  that  the  whole 
American  continent  was  once  water. 

To  be  brief,  the  number  of  young  men  who  were  in  favour 
of  the  ball  was  so  very  limited,  that  it  seemed  impossible  to  get 
one  up  in  a  manner  approaching  to  the  style  of  former  years. 
And  the  gentlemen,  feeling  a  sort  of  consciousness  that  they 
were  not  exactly  in  their  duty,  became  more  remiss  than  ever 
in  visiting  the  ladies. 

It  was  now  the  week  before  Christmas :  the  ladies,  being  in 
hourly  expectation  of  receiving  their  cards,  had  already  begun 
to  prepare  j  and  flowers,  feathers,  ribands,  and  laces  were  in 
great  activity.  Still  no  invitations  came.  It  was  now  con 
jectured  that  the  ball  was,  for  some  extraordinary  reason,  to 
be  deferred  till  New  Year's.  But  what  this  reason  was,  the 
ladies  (being  all  in  a  state  of  pique)  had  too  much  pride  to 
inquire. 

The  gentlemen  begun  to  feel  a  little  ashamed ;  and  Gordon 
Fitzsimmons  had  nearly  prevailed  on  them  to  agree  to  a  New 
Year's  ball,  when  Apesley  Sappington  (who  had  recently  re 
turned  from  England  in  a  coat  by  Stultz,  and  boots  by  Hoby) 
threw  a  damp  on  the  whole  business,  by  averring  that,  with 
the  exception  of  Miss  Lucinda  Mandeville,  who  was  certainly 
a  splendid  woman  with  a  splendid  fortune,  there  was  not  a  lady 
in  the  whole  circle  worth  favouring  with  a  ball  ticket.  At 
least  so  they  appeared  to  him,  after  seeing  Lady  Caroline 
Percy,  and  Lady  Augusta  Howard,  and  Lady  Georgiana  Beau- 
clerck.  Mr.  Sappington  did  not  explain  that  his  only  view  of 
these  fair  blossoms  of  nobility  had  been  circumscribed  to  such 
glimpses  as  he  could  catch  of  them  while  he  stood  in  the  street 
among  a  crowd  assembled  in  front  of  Devonshire  House,  to 
gaze  on  the  company  through  the  windows,  which  in  London 
are  always1  open  on  gala  nights.  He  assured  his  friends  that 
all  the  ladies  of  the  American  aristocracy  had  a  sort  of  par- 
venue  air,  and  looked  as  if  they  had  passed  their  lives  east  of 
Temple  Bar ;  and  that  he  knew  not  a  single  one  of  them  that 
would  be  presentable  at  Alrnack's :  always  excepting  Miss 
Lucinda  Mandeville. 

The  gentlemen  savans  knew  Apesley  Sappington  to  be  a 
coxcomb,  and  in  their  own  minds  did  not  believe  him ;  but 
still  they  thought  it  scarcely  worth  while  to  allow  their  favour 
ite  pursuits  to  be  interrupted  for  the  sake  of  giving  a  ball  to 
ladies  that  rtiiglit  be  unpresentable  at  Alinack's,  and  that  pos 
sibly  looked  like  par  venues  from  the  east  side  of  Temple  Bar, 


THE  LADIES'  BALL.  221 

The  belles,  though  much  disappointed  at  the  failure  of  the 
expected  fete,  proudly  determined  not  to  advert  to  the  subject 
by  the  remotest  hint  in  presence  of  the  beaux;  carefully 
avoiding  even  to  mention  the  word  cotillion  when  a  gentleman 
was  by.  One  young  lady  left  off  wishing  that  Taglioni  would 
come  to  America,  the  name  of  that  celebrated  artiste  being 
synonymous  with  dancing  ;  and  another  checked  herself  when 
about  to  inquire  of  her  sister  if  she  had  seen  a  missing  ball 
of  silk,  because  the  word  ball  was  not  to  be  uttered  before  one 
of  the  male  sex. 

Things  were  in  this  uncomfortable  state,  when  Miss  Lucinda 
Mandeville,  the  belle  par  excellence,  gave  a  turn  to  them 
which  we  shall  relate,  after  presenting  our  .readers  with  a 
sketch  of  the  lady  herself. 

Miss  Mandeville  was  very  beautiful,  very  accomplished,  and 
very  rich,  and  had  just  completed  her  twenty-second  year. 
Her  parents  being  dead,  she  presided  over  an  elegant  mansion 
in  the  most  fashionable  part  of  the  city,  having  invited  an 
excellent  old  lady,  a  distant  relation  of  the  family,  to  reside 
with  her.  Mrs.  Danforth,  however,  was  but  nominally  the 
companion  of  Miss  Mandeville,  being  so  entirely  absorbed  in 
books  that  it  was  difficult  to  get  her  out  of  the  library. 

The  hand  of  Miss  Mandeville  had  been  sought  openly  by 
one-half  the  gentlemen  that  boasted  the  honour  of  her  ac 
quaintance,  and  it  had  been  hinted  at  by  the  other  half,  with 
the  exception  of  Gordon  Fitzsimmons,  a  young  attorney  of 
highly  promising  talents,  whose  ambition  would  have  led  him 
to  look  forward  to  the  probability  of  arriving  at  the  summit 
of  his  profession,  but  whose  rise  was,  as  yet,  somewhat  im 
peded  by  several  very  singular  notions  :  such,  for  instance,  as 
that  a  lawyer  should  never  plead  against  his  conscience,  and 
never  undertake  what  he  knows  to  be  the  wrong  side  of  a 
cause. 

Another  of  his  peculiarities  was  a  strange  idea  that  no  gen 
tleman  should  ever  condescend  to  be  under  pecuniary  obliga 
tions  to  his  wife — ergo — that  a  man  who  has  nothing  himself, 
should  never  marry  a  woman  that  has  anything.  This  last  con 
sideration  had  induced  Mr.  Fitzsimmons  to  undertake  the 
Herculean  task  of  steeling  his  heart,  and  setting  his  face 
against  the  attractions  of  Miss  Mandeville,  with  all  her  advan 
tages  of  mind  and  person.  Notwithstanding,  therefore,  that 
her  conversation  was  always  delightful  to  him,  he  rarely  visited 
her,  except  when  invited  with  other  company. 


THE  LADIES'  BALL. 

Lucinda  Mandeville,  who,  since  the  age  of  sixteen,  had 
been  surrounded  by  admirers,  and  accustomed  to  all  the  adu 
lation  that  is  generally  lavished  on  a  beauty  and  an  heiress, 
was  surprised  at  the  apparent  coldness  of  Gordon  Fitzsimmons, 
than  whom  she  had  never  met  with  a  young  man  more  con 
genial  to  her  taste.  His  manifest  indifference  continually 
attracted  her  attention,  and,  after  awhile,  she  began  to  sus 
pect  that  it  was  no  indifference  at  all,  and  that  something  else 
lurked  beneath  it.  What  that  was,  the  sagacity  of  her  sex 
soon  enabled  her  to  discover. 

Fitzsimmons  never  urged  Lucinda  to  play,  never  handed 
her  to  the  piano,  never  placed  her  harp  for  her,  never  turned 
over  the  leaves  of  her  music  book ;  but  she  always  perceived 
that  though  he  affected  to  mingle  with  the  groups  that  stood 
round  as  listeners,  he  uniformly  took  a  position  from  whence 
he  could  see  her  to  advantage  all  the  time.  When  she  hap 
pened  to  glance  towards  him,  which,  it  must  be  confessed,  she 
did  much  oftener  than  she  intended  (particularly  when  she 
came  to  the  finest  passage  of  her  song),  she  never  failed  to 
find  his  eyes  fixed  on  her  face  with  a  gaze  of  involuntary  ad 
miration,  that,  when  they  met,  was  instantly  changed  to  an 
averted  look  of  indifference. 

Though  he  was  scrupulous  in  dancing  with  her  once  only 
in  the  course  of  the  evening,  she  could  not  but  perceive  that, 
during  this  set,  his  countenance,  in  spite  of  himself,  lighted 
up  with  even  more  than  its  usual  animation.  And  if  she  acci 
dentally  turned  her  head,  she  saw  that  his  eyes  were  following 
her  every  motion :  as  well  indeed  they  might,  for  she  danced 
with  the  lightness  of  a  sylph,  and  the  elegance  of  a  lady. 

Notwithstanding  his  own  acknowledged  taste  for  everything 
connected  with  the  fine  arts,  Fitzsimmons  never  asked  to  see 
Miss  Mandeville's  drawings.  But  she  observed  that  after  she 
had  been  showing  them  to  others,  and  he  supposed  her  atten 
tion  to  be  elsewhere  engaged,  he  failed  not  to  take  them  up, 
and  gaze  on  them  as  if  he  found  it  difficult  to  lay  them  down 
again. 

In  conversation,  he  never  risked  a  compliment  to  Miss 
Mandeville,  but  often  dissented  with  her  opinion,  and  fre 
quently  rallied  her. — Yet  when  she  was  talking  to  any  one 
else,  he  always  contrived  to  be  within  hearing  ;  and  frequently, 
when  engaged  himself  in  conversing  with  others,  he  invo 
luntarily  stopped  short  to  listen  to  what  Lucinda  was  saying. 

Miss  Mandeville  had  read  much;  and  seen  much,  and  had 


THE  LADIES'  BALL.  223 

had  much  love  made  to  her  :  but  her  heart  had  never,  till 
now,  been  touched  even  slightly.  That  Fitzsimmons  admired 
her,  she  could  not  possibly  doubt :  and  that  he  loved  her,  she 
would  have  been  equally  certain,  only  that  he  continued  all 
the  time  in  excellent  health  and  spirits ;  that,  so  far  from  sit 
ting  "  like  patience  on  a  monument/'  he  seldom  sat  anywhere ; 
that  when  he  smiled  (which  he  did  very  often)  it  was  evidently 
not  at  grief;  and  that  the  concealment  he  affected,  was  assur 
edly  not  feeding  on  his  cheek,  which,  so  far  from  turning 
"  green  and  yellow/'  had  lost  nothing  of  its  "  natural  ruby." 

Neither  was  our  heroine  at  all  likely  to  die  for  love.  Though 
there  seemed  no  prospect  of  his  coming  to  a  proposal,  and 
though  she  was  sometimes  assured  by  the  youngest  and  prettiest 
of  her  female  friends,  that  they  knew  from  authentic  sources 
that  Mr.  Fitzsimmons  had  magnanimously  declared  against 
marrying  a  woman  of  fortune;  yet  other  ladies,  who  were 
neither  young  nor  handsome,  and  had  no  hope  of  Mr.  Fitz 
simmons  for  themselves,  were  so  kind  as  to  convince  Miss 
Mandeville  that  he  admired  her  even  at  "  the  very  top  of 
admiration."  And  these  generous  and  disinterested  ladies 
were  usually,  after  such  agreeable  communications,  invited  by 
Miss  Mandeville  to  pass  the  evening  with  her. 

Also — our  heroine  chanced  one  day  to  overhear  a  conversa 
tion  between  Dora,  her  own  maid,  and  another  mulatto  girl ; 
in  which  Dora  averred  to  her  companion  that  she  had  heard 
from  no  less  authority  than  Squire  Fitzsimmons' s  man  Cato, 
"  who  always  wore  a  blue  coat,  be  the  colour  what  it  may,  that 
the  squire  was  dead  in  love  with  Miss  Lucinda,  as  might  be 
seen  from  many  invisible  smyptoms,  and  that  both  Dora  and 
Cato  had  a  certain  foreglmng  that  it  would  turn  out  a  match 
at  last,  for  all  that  the  lady  had  the  money  on  her  side,  which, 
to  be  sure,  was  rather  unnatural ;  and  that  the  wedding  might 
be  looked  for  momently,  any  minute." 

In  the  course  of  the  next  quarter  of  an  hour,  Miss  Lucinda 
called  Dora  into  her  dressing-room,  and  presented  her  with  a 
little  Thibet  shawl,  which  she  had  worn  but  once.  Dora 
grinned  understandingly  :  and  from  that  time  she  contrived 
to  be  overheard  so  frequently  in  similar  conversations,  that 
much  of  the  effect  was  diminished. 

To  resume  the  thread  of  our  narrative — Lucinda  being  one 
morning  on  a  visit  to  her  friend  Miss  Delwin,  the  latter  ad 
verted  to  the  failure  of  the  annual  dancing  party. 

"  What  would  the  beaux  say/'  exclaimed  Lucinda,  struck 
It/ 


224  THE  LADIES'  BALL. 

with  a  sudden  idea,  "  if  the  "belles  were  to  give  a  ball  to  them, 
by  way  of  hinting  our  sense  of  their  extraordinary  remissness  ? 
Let  us  convince  them  that,  according  to  the  luminous  and 
incontrovertible  aphorism  of  the  renowned  Sam  Patch,  ( some 
things  may  be  done  as  well  as  others/  ' 

"  Excellent,"  replied  Miss  Delwin ;  "  the  thought  is  well 
worth  pursuing.  Let  us  try  what  we  can  make  of  it." 

The  two  young  ladies  then  proceeded  to  an  animated  dis 
cussion  of  the  subject,  and  the  more  they  talked  of  it,  the  better 
they  liked  it.  They  very  soon  moulded  the  idea  into  regular 
form  :  and,  as  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost,  they  set  out  to 
call  on  several  of  their  friends,  and  mention  it  to  them. 

The  idea,  novel  as  it  seemed,  was  seized  on  with  avidity  by 
all  to  whom  it  was  suggested,  and  a  secret  conclave  was  held 
on  the  following  morning  at  Miss  Mandeville's  house,  where 
the  ladies  debated  with  closed  doors,  while  the  plan  was  organ 
ized  and  the  particulars  arranged :  our  heroine  proposing 
much  that  she  thought  would  "  point  the  moral  and  adorn 
the  tale." 

Next  day,  notes  of  invitation  to  a  ball  given  by  the  ladies, 
were  sent  round  to  the  gentlemen ;  all  of  whom  were  surprised, 
and  many  mortified,  for  they  at  once  saw  the  motive,  and 
understood  the  implied  reproof.  Some  protested  that  they 
should  never  have  courage  to  go,  and  talked  of  declining  the 
invitation.  But  the  majority  decided  on  accepting  it,  justly 
concluding  that  it  was  best  to  carry  the  thing  off  with  a  good 
grace ;  and  having,  besides,  much  curiosity  to  see  how  the 
ladies  would  conduct,  if  we  may  be  pardoned  a  Yankeeism. 

Fitzsiminons  declared  that  the  delinquent  beaux  were  rightly 
punished  by  this  palpable  hit  of  the  belles.  And  he  congra 
tulated  himself  on  having  always  voted  in  favour  of  the  ball 
being  given  as  formerly  :  secretly  hoping  that  Miss  Mande- 
ville  knew  that  he  had  not  been  one  of  the  backsliders.  We 
are  tolerably  sure  that  she  did  know  it. 

Eventually  the  invitations  were  all  accepted,  and  the  pre 
parations  went  secretly  but  rapidly  on,  under  the  superintend 
ence  of  Miss  Mandeville  and  Miss  Delwin.  In  the  mean  time, 
the  gentlemen,  knowing  that  they  all  looked  conscious  and 
foolish,  avoided  the  ladies,  and  kept  themselves  as  much  out 
of  their  sight  as  possible ;  with  the  exception  of  Gordon  Fitz- 
simmons,  he  being  the  only  one  that  felt  freedom  to  "  wear 
his  beaver  up." 

At  length  the  eventful  evening  arrived.     It  had  been  spe- 


THE  LADIES'  BALL.  225 

cified  in  the  notes  that  the  ladies  were  to  meet  the  gentlemen 
at  the  ball-room,  which  was  a  public  one  engaged  for  the 
occasion.  Accordingly,  the  beaux  found  all  the  belles  there 
before  them :  the  givers  of  the  fete  having  gone  in  their  own 
conveyances,  an  hour  in  advance  of  the  time  appointed  for 
their  guests. 

The  six  ladies  that  officiated  as  managers  (and  were  all 
distinguished  by  a  loop  of  blue  riband  drawn  through  their 
belts)  met  the  gentlemen  at  the  door  as  they  entered  the  ball 
room,  and  taking  their  hands,  conducted  them  to  their  seats 
with  much  mock  civility.  The  gentlemen,  though  greatly 
ashamed,  tried  in  vain  to  look  grave. 

The  room  was  illuminated  with  astral  lamps,  whose  silver 
rays  shone  out  from  clusters  of  blue  and  purple  flowers,  and 
with  crystal  chandeliers,  whose  pendent  drops  sparkled  amid 
festoons  of  roses.  The  walls  were  painted  of  a  pale  and  beautiful 
cream  colour.  Curtains  of  the  richest  crimson,  relieved  by  their 
masses  of  shadow  the  brilliant  lightness  of  the  other  decora 
tions  :  their  deep  silken  fringes  reflected  in  the  mirrors,  whose 
polished  surfaces  were  partially  hidden  by  folds  of  their  grace 
ful  drapery.  The  orchestra  represented  a  splendid  oriental 
tent;  and  the  musicians  were  habited  in  uniform  Turkish 
dresses,  their  white  turbans  strikingly  contrasting  their  black 
faces. 

At  the  opposite  end  of  the  room  was  an  excellent  trans 
parency,  executed  by  an  artist  from  a  sketch  by  Miss  Mande- 
ville.  It  depicted  a  medley  of  scenery  and  figures,  but  so 
skilfully  and  tastefully  arranged  as  to  have  a  very  fine  effect 
when  viewed  as  a  whole.  There  was  a  Virginian  lady  assist 
ing  her  cavalier  to  mount  his  horse — a  Spanish  damsel  under 
the  lattice  of  her  lover,  serenading  him  with  a  guitar — a  Swiss 
paysanne  supporting  the  steps  of  a  chamois  hunter  as  he 
timidly  clambered  up  a  rock — four  Hindoo  women  carrying  a 
Bramin  in  a  palanquin — an  English  girl  rowing  a  sailor  in  a 
boat — and  many  other  anomalies  of  a  similar  description. 
Beneath  the  picture  was  a  scroll  fancifully  ornamented,  and 
containing  the  words  u  Le  tnonde  renvers6." 

That  nothing  might  be  wanting  to  the  effect  of  the  ball,  the 
ladies  had  made  a  point  of  appearing  this  evening  in  dresses 
unusually  splendid  and  rechercht.  The  elegant  form  of 
Lucinda  Mandeville  was  attired  in  a  rich  purple  satin,  bordered 
with  gold  embroidery,  and  trimmed  round  the  neck  with  blond 
lace.  Long  full  sleeves  of  the  same  material  threw  their 


226  THE  LADIES'  BALL. 

transparent  shade  over  her  beautiful  arms,  and  were  confined 
at  intervals  with  bands  of  pearls  clasped  with  amethysts.  A 
chain  of  pearls  was  arranged  above  the  curls  of  her  dark  and 
glossy  hair,  crossing  at  the  back  of  her  head,  and  meeting  in 
front,  where  it  terminated  in  a  splendid  amethyst  aigrette. 
Three  short  white  feathers,  tastefully  dispQsed  at  intervals, 
completed  the  coiffure,  which  was  peculiarly  becoming  to  the 
noble  and  resplendent  style  of  beauty  that  distinguished  our 
heroine ;  though  to  a  little  slight  woman  with  light  hair  and 
eyes,  it  would  have  been  exactly  the  contrary. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  so  princess-like  a  figure  as  Miss  Mande- 
ville?"  said  young  Rainsford  to  Gordon  Fitzsimmons,  "  or 
features  more  finely  chiselled  ?" 

"  I  have  never  seen  a  princess,"  replied  Fitzsimmons,  "  but 
from  what  I  have  heard,  few  of  them  look  in  reality  as  a 
princess  should.  Neither,  I  think,  does  the  world  chiselled 
apply  exactly  to  features,  formed  by  a  hand  beside  whose 
noble  and  beautiful  creations  the  finest  chef  d' ceuvres  of  sculp 
ture  are  as  nothing.  I  like  not  to  hear  of  the  human  face 
being  well  cut  or  finely  chiselled:  though  these  expressions 
have  long  been  sanctioned  by  the  currency  of  fashion.  Why 
borrow  from  art  a  term,  or  terms,  that  so  imperfectly  defines 
the  beauty  of  nature  ?  When  we  look  at  a  living  face,  with 
features  more  lovely  than  the  imagination  of  an  artist  has  ever 
conceived,  or  at  a  complexion  blooming  with  health,  and  eyes 
sparkling  with  intelligence,  why  should  our  delight  and  our 
admiration  be  disturbed,  by  admitting  any  idea  connected 
with  a  block  of  marble  and  the  instruments  that  form  it  into 
shape  ?" 

"  But  you  must  allow,"  said  Rainsford,  "  that  Miss  Mande- 
ville  has  a  fine  classic  head." 

"  I  acknowledge,"  said  Fitzsimmons,  "  the  graceful  contour 
of  the  heads  called  classic.  On  this  side  of  the  Atlantic  we 
have  few  opportunities  of  judging  of  antique  sculpture,  except 
from  casts  and  engravings.  But  as  to  the  faces  of  the  nymphs 
and  goddesses  of  Grecian  art,  I  must  venture  to  confess  that 
they  do  not  exactly  comport  with  my  ideas  of  female  loveliness. 
Not  to  speak  of  their  almost  unvarying  sameness  (an  evidence, 
1  think,  that  they  are  not  modelled  from  life,  for  nature  never 
repeats  herself),  their  chief  characteristics  are  a  cold  regularity 
of  outline,  and  an  insipid  straightness  of  nose  and  forehead, 
such  as  in  a  living  countenance  would  be  found  detrimental  to 
all  expression.  I  know  I  am  talking  heresy :  but  I  cannot 


THE  LADIES*   BALL.  227 

divest  myself  of  the  persuasion,  that  a  face  with  precisely  the 
features  that  we  are  accustomed  to  admire  in  antique  statuary, 
would,  if  clothed  in  flesh  and  blood,  be  scarcely  considered 
beautiful." 

"Perhaps  so,"  said  Rainsford;  "but  you  surely  consider 
Miss  Mandeville  beautiful  ?" 

"  The  beauty  of  Lucinda  Mandeville,"  replied  Fitzsimmons, 
"  is  not  that  of  a  Grecian  statue.  It  is  the  beauty  of  an  ele 
gant  American  lady,  uniting  all  the  best  points  of  her  country 
women.  Her  figure  is  symmetry  itself,  and  there  is  an  ease, 
a  grace,  a  dignity  in  her  movements,  which  I  have  never  seen 
surpassed.  Her  features  are  lovely  in  their  form  and  charm 
ing  in  their  expression,  particularly  her  fine  black  eyes :  and 
her  complexion  is  unrivalled  both  in  its  bloom  and  its  deli 
cacy." 

"  What  a  pity  that  Lucinda  does  not  hear  all  this !"  re 
marked  Miss  Delwin,  who  happened  to  be  near  Fitzsimmona 
and  his  friend. 

Fitzsimmons  coloured,  fearing  that  he  had  spoken  with  too 
much  warmth :  and,  bowing  to  Miss  Delwin,  he  took  the  arm 
of  Rainsford,  and  went  to  another  part  of  the  room. 

Miss  Delwin,  however,  lost  no  time  in  finding  Lucinda,  and 
repeated  the  whole,  verbatim,  to  her  highly  gratified  friend, 
who  tried  to  look  indifferent,  but  blushed  and  smiled  all  the 
time  she  was  listening :  and  who,  from  this  moment,  felt  a 
sensible  accession  to  her  usual  excellent  spirits. 

"  Ladies,"  said  Miss  Delwin,  "  choose  your  partners  for  a 
cotillion." 

For  a  few  moments  the  ladies  hesitated,  and  held  back  at 
the  idea  of  so  novel  a  beginning  to  the  ball :  and  Fitzsimmons, 
much  amused,  made  a  sign  to  his  friends  not  to  advance.  Miss 
Mandeville  came  forward  with  a  smile  on  her  lips,  and  a  blush 
on  her  cheeks.  The  heart  of  Fitzsimmons  beat  quick;  but 
she  passed  him,  and  curtsying  to  young  Colesberry,  who  was 
just  from  college,  and  extremely  diffident,  she  requested  the 
honour  of  his  hand,  and  led  him,  with  as  much  composure  as 
she  could  assume,  to  a  cotillion  that  was  forming  in  the  centro 
of  the  room  j  he  shrinking  and  apologizing  all  the  while. 
And  Miss  Delwin  engaged  Fitzsimmons. 

In  a  short  time,  all  the  ladies  had  provided  themselves  with 
partners.  At  first,  from  the  singularity  of  their  mutual  situ 
ation,  both  beaux  and  belles  felt  themselves  under  considerable 
embarrassment,  but  gradually  this  awkwardness  wore  away, 
19* 


228  THE  LADIES'  BALL. 

and  an  example  being  set  by  the  master  spirits  of  the  assem 
bly,  there  was  much  pleasantry  on  either  side  •  all  being  de 
termined  to  humour  the  jest,  and  sustain  it  throughout  with  as 
good  a  grace  as  possible. 

When  the  cotillions  were  forming  for  the  second  set,  nearly 
a  dozen  young  ladies  found  themselves  simultaneously  ap 
proaching  Gordon  Fitzsimmons,  each  with  the  design  of  en 
gaging  him  as  a  partner.  And  this  empressement  was  not 
surprising,  as  he  was  decidedly  the  handsomest  and  most  ele 
gant  man  in  the  room. 

"  Well,  ladies/7  said  Fitzsimmons,  as  they  almost  surrounded 
him,  "  you  must  decide  among  yourselves  which  of  you  is  to 
take  me  out.  All  I  can  do  is  to  stand  still  and  be  passive. 
But  I  positively  interdict  any  quarrelling  about  me/7 

"We  have  heard/7  said  Miss  Atherley,  "of  men  dying  of 
love,  dying  of  grief,  and  dying  from  fear  of  death.  We  are 
now  trying  if  it  is  not  possible  to  make  them  die  of  vanity/7 

"  True/7  replied  Fitzsimmons,  "  we  may  say  with  Harry  the 
Fifth  at  Agincourt — '  He  that  outlives  this  day,  and  comes 
safe  home/  77 — "  '  Will  stand  a-tiptoe  when  this  day  is  named/  " 
— added  Miss  Atherley,  finishing  the  quotation. 

Fitzsimmons  did  not  reply ;  for  his  attention  was  at  that 
moment  engaged  by  seeing  Miss  Manderville  leading  out 
Apesley  Sappington,  and  apparently  much  diverted  with  his 
absurdities. 

"  Ladies/7  said  Miss  Atherley,  looking  round  to  her  com 
panions,  "  let  us  try  a  fair  chance  of  Mr.  Fitzsimmons — sup 
pose  we  draw  lots  for  him.77 

"  Do — by  all  means/7  exclaimed  Fitzsimmons.  "  Set  me  up 
at  a  raffle.77 

"  No/7  replied  Miss  Atherley,  "  we  cannot  conveniently 
raffle  for  you,  as  we  have  no  dice  at  hand.  Another  way  will 
do  as  well.77 

She  then  plucked  from  her  bouquet  some  green  rose-leaves, 
and  half  concealing  them  between  her  fingers,  she  offered  the 
stems  to  each  of  her  companions  in  turn,  saying — "  Whoever 
draws  the  largest  rose-leaf  may  claim  the  honour  of  Mr.  Fitz 
simmons' s  hand  for  the  next  set.77 

The  lots  were  drawn,  and  the  largest  rose-leaf  remained 
with  Miss  Atherley  (who  was  a  young  lady  of  much  beauty 
and  vivacity),  and  whom  her  friends  laughingly  accused  of  foul 
play  in  contriving  to  hold  it  back,  in  which  opinion  Fitzsim 
mons  assured  them  that  he  perfectly  coincided.  But  Miss 


THE  LADIES'  BALL.  229 

Atherley,  however,  led  him  triumphantly  to  the  cotillion  which, 
fortunately  for  his  partner,  did  not  happen  to  be  the  one  in 
which  Lucinda  Mandeville  was  engaged. 

At  the  conclusion  of  each  set,  the  ladies  conducted  the 
gentlemen  to  their  seats,  assisted  them  to  the  refreshments 
that  were  handed  round,  and  stood  by  and  fanned  them.  Most 
of  the  gentlemen  took  all  this  very  well,  but  others  were  much 
disconcerted :  particularly  a  grave  knight-errant-looking  Spa 
niard,  who  (having  but  lately  arrived,  and  understanding  the 
language  but  imperfectly)  conceived  that  it  was  the  custom  in 
America  for  ladies  to  give  balls  to  gentlemen,  and  to  wait  on 
them  during  the  evening.  In  this  error  he  was  mischievously 
allowed  to  continue :  but  so  much  was  his  gallantry  shocked, 
that  he  could  not  forbear  dropping  on  his  knees  to  receive  the 
attentions  that  were  assiduously  proffered  to  him  :  bowing 
gratefully  on  the  fair  hands  that  presented  him  with  a  glass 
of  orgeat  or  a  plate  of  ice-cream. — And  he  was  so  overcome 
with  the  honour,  and  so  deeply  penetrated  with  a  sense  of  his 
own  unworthiness,  when  Lucinda  Mandeville  invited  him  to 
dance  with  her,  that  she  almost  expected  to  see  him  perform 
kotou,  and  knock  his  head  nine  times  against  the  floor. 

Among  others  of  the  company  was  Colonel  Kingswood,  a 
very  agreeable  bachelor,  long  past  the  meridian  of  life,  but  not 
quite  old  enough  to  marry  a  young  girl,  his  mind,  as  yet, 
showing  no  symptoms  of  dotage.  His  fortune  was  not  suffi 
cient  to  make  him  an  object  of  speculation,  and  though  court 
eous  to  all,  his  attentions  were  addressed  exclusively  to  none. 
He  was  much  liked  by  his  young  friends  of  both  sexes,  all  of 
them  feeling  perfectly  at  ease  in  his  society.  Though  he 
rarely  danced,  he  was  very  fond  of  balls,  and  had  participated 
in  the  vexation  of  Gordon  Fitzsimmons  when  the  beaux  had 
declined  giving  their  Christmas  fete  to  the  belles. 

In  an  interval  between  the  sets,  Lucinda  suggested  to  a 
group  of  her  fair  companions,  the  propriety  of  asking  Colonel 
Kingswood  to  dance  ]  a  compliment  that  he  had  not  as  yet  re 
ceived  during  the  evening.  "  You  know,"  said  she,  "  the  Co 
lonel  sometimes  dances,  and  now  that  the  ladies  have  assumed 
the  privilege  of  choosing  their  partners,  courtesy  requires  that 
none  of  the  gentlemen  should  be  neglected." 

But  each  declined  asking  Colonel  Kingswood,  on  the  plea 
that  they  had  other  partners  in  view. 

"For  my  part,"  said  Miss  Ormond,  frankly,  "I  am  just 
going  to  ask  Mr.  Wyndham.  This  is,  perhaps,  the  only 


230  THE  LADIES'  BALL, 

chance  I  shall  ever  have  of  dancing  with  him,  as  I  am  quite 
certain  he  will  never  ask  me." 

"But,  my  dear  Lucinda,"  said  Miss  Elgrove,  "why  not 
invite  Colonel  Kingswood  yourself?  There  he  is,  talking  to 
Mr.  Fitzsimmons,  near  the  central  window.  It  is  not  mag 
nanimous  to  propose  to  others  what  you  are  unwilling  to  do 
inproprid  persona." 

Lucinda  had,  in  reality,  but  one  objection  to  proposing  her 
self  as  a  partner  to  Colonel  Kingswood,  and  that  was,  his 
being  just  then  engaged  in  conversation  with  Gordon  Fitz- 
simmons,  whom  she  felt  a  sort  of  conscious  reluctance  to  ap 
proach.  However,  she  paused  a  moment,  and  then  summoned 
courage  to  join  the  two  gentlemen  and  proffer  her  request  to 
the  Colonel,  even  though  Fitzsimmons  was  close  at  hand. 

"My  dear  Miss  Mandeville,"  said  Colonel  Kingswood,  "I 
confess  that  I  have  not  courage  to  avail  myself  of  your  very 
tempting  proposal.  As  my  fighting  days  are  now  over,  I  can 
not  stand  the  shot  of  the  jealous  eyes  that  will  be  directed  at 
me  from  every  part  of  the  ball-room." 

"I  have  seen  you  dance,"  remarked  Lucinda,  evading  the 
application  of  his  compliment. 

"True,"  replied  the  Colonel,  "but  you  might  have  observed 
that  I  never  take  out  the  young  ladies — always  being  so  con 
siderate  as  to  leave  them  to  the  young  gentlemen.  I  carry  my 
disinterestedness  so  far  as  invariably  to  select  partners  that  are 
ni  jeune,  ni  jolie  :  notwithstanding  the  remarks  I  frequently 
hear  about  well-matched  pairs,  &c." 

"I  am  to  understand,  then,"  said  Lucinda,  "that  you  are 
mortifying  me  by  a  refusal." 

"Come,  now,  be  honest,"  returned  Colonel  Kingswood, 
"and  change  the  word  ' mortify'  into  gratify.  But  do  not 
turn  away.  It  is  customary,  you  know,  when  a  man  is  drawn 
for  the  militia  and  is  unwilling  to  serve,  to  allow  him  to 
choose  a  substitute.  Here  then  is  mine.  Advance,  Mr. 
Fitzsimmons,  and  with  such  a  partner  I  shall  expect  to  see 
you  'rise  from  the  ground  like  feather' d  Mercury.'" 

Fitzsimmons  came  forward  with  sparkling  eyes  and  a  height 
ened  colour,  and  offered  his  hand  to  Lucinda,  whose  face  was 
suffused  even  to  the  temples.  There  were  a  few  moments  of 
mutual  confusion,  and  neither  party  uttered  a  word  till  they 
had  reached  the  cotillion.  The  music  commenced  as  soon  as 
they  had  taken  their  places,  and  Lucinda  being  desired  by  her 
opposite  lady  to  lead,  there  was  no  immediate  conversation. 


THE  LADIES'  BALL.  231 

Our  heroine  called  up  all  her  pride,  all  her  self-command,  and 
all  her  native  buoyancy  of  spirits ;  Fitzsimmons  did  the  same, 
and  they  managed  in  the  intervals  of  the  dance  to  talk  with  so 
much  vivacity,  that  each  was  convinced  that  their  secret  was 
still  preserved  from  the  other. 

When  the  set  was  over,  they  returned  to  the  place  in  which 
they  had  left  Colonel  Kingswood,  who  received  them  with  a 
smile. 

"  Well,  Miss  Mandeville,"  said  he;  "  what  pretty  things  have 
you  been  saying  to  your  partner?" 

"Ask  Mr.  Fitzsimmons/'  replied  Lucinda. 

"  Not  a  single  compliment  could  I  extract  from  her,"  said 
Fitzsimmons }  cc  she  had  not  even  the  grace  to  imply  her  gra 
titude  for  doing  me  the  honour  of  dancing  with  me,  or  rather, 
for  my  doing  her  the  honour.  Ah  !  that  is  it — is  it  not  ?  I 
forgot  the  present  mode  of  expression.  It  is  so  difficult  for 
one  night  only  to  get  out  of  the  old  phraseology.  But  she 
certainly  expressed  no  gratitude." 

"  I  owed  you  none/'  replied  Lucinda ;  "  for,  like  Malvolio, 
you  have  had  greatness  thrust  upon  you.  You  know  you  are 
only  Colonel  Kingswood' s  substitute." 

"  Well,"  resumed  Fitzsimmons,  "  have  I  not  done  my  best 
to  make  '  the  substitute  shine  brightly  as  the  king  V " 

11  Recollect  that  the  king  is  now  by,"  said  Colonel  Kings- 
wood.  "  But,  Miss  Mandeville,  you  must  go  through  your 
part.  Consider  that  to-night  is  the  only  opportunity  the  gen 
tlemen  may  ever  have  of  hearing  how  adroitly  the  ladies  can 
flatter  them." 

te  It  is  not  in  the  bond,"  replied  Lucinda. 

"  What  is  not  ?" 

"  That  the  ladies  should  natter  the  gentlemen." 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Colonel  Kingswood  ;  "  the  ladies  having 
voluntarily  taken  the  responsibility,  the  gentlemen  must  insist 
on  their  going  regularly  through  the  whole  ball  with  all  its 
accompaniments,  including  compliments,  flattery,  and  flirta 
tion,  and  a  seasoning  of  genuine  courtship,  of  which  last  arti 
cle  there  is  always  more  or  less  at  every  large  party.  And  as 
it  appears  that  Miss  Mandeville  has  not  faithfully  done  her 
part  during  the  dance,  she  must  make  amends  by  doing  it 
now." 

"  On  the  latter  subject,"  said  Fitzsimmons,  "  Miss  Mande 
ville  can  need  no  prompting.  Her  own  experience  must  have 
made  her  familiar  with  courtship  in  all  its  varieties." 


232  THE  LADIES'  BALL. 

"  Of  course/' — resumed  the  Colonel. — "  So,  Miss  Mandeville, 
you  can  be  at  no  loss  in  what  manner  to  begin/' 

"And  ain  I  to  stand  here  and  be  courted?"  said  Fitzsim- 
mons. 

"  Now  do  not  be  frightened,"  observed  the  Colonel,  "  and 
do  not  look  round  as  if  you  were  meditating  an  escape.  I  will 
stand  by  arid  see  how  you  acquit  yourself  in  this  new  and 
delightful  situation.  Come,  Miss  Mandeville,  begin." 

"  What  sort  of  courtship  will  you  have  ?"  said  Lucinda, 
who  could  not  avoid  laughing.  "  The  sentimental,  the  pru 
dential,  or  the  downright  ?" 

"  The  downright,  by  all  means,"  cried  the  Colonel.  "  No, 
no,"  said  Fitzsimmons;  "let  me  hear  the  others  first.  The 
downright  would  be  too  overwhelming  without  a  previous  pre 
paration." 

Lucinda  affected  to  hide  her  face  with  a  feather  that  had 
fallen  from  her  head  during  the  dance,  and  which  she  still 
held  in  her  hand,  and  she  uttered  hesitatingly  and  with  down 
cast  eyes — 

"  If  I  could  hope  to  be  pardoned  for  my  temerity  in  thus 
presuming  to  address  one  whose  manifest  perfections  so  pre 
ponderate  in  the  scale,  when  weighed  against  my  own  de 
merits — " 

"  Oh  !  stop,  stop  !"  exclaimed  Fitzsimmons ;  "  this  will 
never  do !" 

"  Why,  it  is  just  the  way  a  poor  young  fellow  courted  me 
last  summer,"  replied  Lucinda.  "  Come,  let  me  go  on.  Con 
scious  as  I  am  that  I  might  as  well  ( love  a  bright  and  parti 
cular  star,  and  think  to  wed  it — '  " 

"  You  will  never  succeed  in  that  strain,"  said  Fitzsimmons, 
laughing.  "  You  must  try  another." 

"  Well,  then,"  continued  Lucinda,  changing  her  tone, 
"here  is  the  prudential  mode.  Mr.  Gordon  Fitzsimmons, 
thinking  it  probable  (though  I  speak  advisedly)  that  you  may 
have  no  objection  to  change  your  condition,  and  believing 
(though  perhaps  I  may  be  mistaken)  that  we  are  tolerably 
well  suited  to  each  other — I  being  my  own  mistress,  and  you 
being  your  own  master — perceiving  no  great  disparity  of  age, 
or  incompatibility  of  temper — " 

"  I  like  not  this  mode  either,"  interrupted  Fitzsimmons ; 
"  it  is  worse  than  the  other." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?"  resumed  Lucinda.  "  It  is  just  the 
way  a  rich  old  fellow  courted  me  last  winter." 


THE  LADIES'  BALL.  233 

"  Nothing  is  more  likely,"  said  Fitzsimmons.  "  But  neither 
of  these  modes  will  succeed  with  me." 

"  Then/7  observed  the  Colonel,  "  there  is  nothing  left  but 
the  plain  downright." 

"  Mr.  Fitzsimmons,  will  you  marry  me  T'  said  Lucinda. 

"  With  all  my  heart  and  soul,"  replied  Fitzsimmons,  taking 
her  hand. 

"  Oh  !  you  forget  yourself,"  exclaimed  Lucinda,  struggling 
to  withdraw  it.  "  You  are  not  half  so  good  a  comedian  as  I 
am.  You  should  look  down,  and  play  with  your  guard-chain ; 
and  then  look  up,  and  tell  me  you  are  perfectly  happy  in  your 
single  state — that  marriage  is  a  lottery — that  our  acquaintance 
has  been  too  slight  for  either  of  us  to  form  a  correct  opinion 
of  the  other.  In  short,  you  should  say  no." 

"  By  heavens  !"  exclaimed  Fitzimrnons,  kissing  her  beauti 
ful  hand;  "I  cannot  say  no — even  in  jest." 

Lucinda' s  first  sensation  was  involuntary  delight.  But  in 
a  moment  she  was  startled  by  the  conviction  that  she  had  un 
thinkingly  gone  too  far.  The  native  delicacy  of  woman  thrilled 
every  nerve  in  her  frame,  and  her  cheeks  varied  alternately 
from  red  to  pale.  Shocked  at  the  length  to  which  she  had 
inadvertently  carried  a  dialogue  begun  in  badinage,  and  con 
fused,  mortified,  and  distressed  at  its  result,  she  forcibly  dis 
engaged  her  hand  from  that  of  Fitzsimmons,  and  turning  to  a 
lady  and  gentleman  that  she  saw  passing,  she  said  she  would 
accompany  them  to  the  other  end  of  the  room.  Arrived  there, 
she  seated  herself  in  the  midst  of  a  group  that  were  warmly 
engaged  in  discussing  the  comparative  merits  of  Spanish  dances 
and  Polish  dances :  and  she  endeavoured  to  collect  her  scat 
tered  thoughts,  and  compose  the  flutter  of  her  spirits.  But  it 
was  in  vain — the  more  she  reflected  on  the  little  scene  that 
had  just  taken  place,  the  more  she  regretted  it. 

"  What  must  Fitzsimmons  think  of  me  ?"  was  her  predomi 
nant  idea.  "  His  gallantry  as  a  gentleman  prompted  his 
reply,  but  still  how  sadly  I  must  have  sunk  in  his  opinion ! 
That  I  should  have  allowed  myself  to  be  drawn  into  such  a 
conversation  !  That  I  should  have  carried  a  foolish  jest  so 
far !  But  I  will  punish  myself  severely.  I  will  expiate  my 
folly  by  avoiding  all  farther  intercourse  with  Gordon  Fitzsim 
mons  ;  and  from  this  night  we  must  become  strangers  to  each 
other." 

The  change  in  Lucinda's  countenance  and  manner  was  now 
so  obvious  that  several  of  her  friends  asked  her  if  she  was  ill. 


234  THE  LADIES'  BALL. 

To  these  questions  she  answered  in  the  negative :  but  her 
cheeks  grew  paler,  and  the  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes. 

Miss  Delwin  now  approached,  and  said  to  her  in  a  low  voice 
— "  My  dear  Lucinda,  I  perceive  that  you  are  suffering  under 
some  coiitre-tems;  but  such  things,  you  know,  are  always  in 
cidental  to  balls,  and  all  other  assemblages  where  every  one 
expects  unqualified  delight.  We  should  be  prepared  for  these 
contingencies,  and  when  they  do  occur,  the  only  alternative  is 
to  try  to  pass  them  over  as  well  as  we  can,  by  making  an 
effort  to  rally  our  spirits  so  as  to  get  through  the  remainder 
of  the  evening  with  apparent  composure,  or  else  to  plead  indis 
position  and  go  home.  Which  course  will  you  take  T' 

"  Oh  !  how  gladly  would  I  retire !"  exclaimed  Lucinda, 
scarcely  able  to  restrain  her  tears.  "  But  were  I  to  do  so, 
there  are  persons  who  might  put  strange  constructions — or 
rather  the  company  might  be  induced  to  make  invidious  re 
marks — " 

"  By  no  means,"  interrupted  Miss  Delwin.  "  A  lady  may 
at  any  time  be  overcome  with  the  heat  and  fatigue  of  a  ball 
room — nothing  is  more  common." 

"  But,"  said  Lucinda,  "  were  I  to  leave  the  company — were 
I  to  appear  as  if  unable  to  stay — were  I  to  evince  so  much 
emotion — he  would,  indeed,  suppose  me  in  earnest." 

"  He  !"  cried  Miss  Delwin,  looking  surprised.  "  Of  whom 
are  you  speaking,  dear  Lucinda  ?  Who  is  it  that  would  sup 
pose  you  in  earnest  ?" 

"  No  matter,"  replied  Lucinda,  "  I  spoke  inadvertently ;  I 
forgot  myself;  I  knew  not  what  I  was  saying." 

"  Dearest  Lucinda,"  exclaimed  Miss  Delwin,  "  I  am  ex 
tremely  sorry  to  find  you  so  discomposed.  What  can  have 
happened  ?  At  a  more  convenient  time,  may  I  hope  that  you 
will  tell  me  ?" 

"  Oh  !  no,  no,"  replied  Lucinda,  "  it  is  impossible.  I  can 
not  speak  of  it  even  to  you.  Ask  me  no  further.  I  am  dis 
tressed,  humiliated,  shocked  at  myself  (and  she  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands).  But  I  cannot  talk  about  it,  now  or 
ever." 

"  Lucinda,  ray  dear  Lucinda,"  said  Miss  Delwin,  "your 
agitation  will  be  observed." 

"  Then  I  must  endeavour  to  suppress  it,"  replied  Lucinda, 
starting  up.  "I  must  stay  till  this  unfortunate  ball  is  overj 
my  going  home  would  seem  too  pointed." 

"  Let  me  then  intreat  you,  my  dear  girl,"  said  Miss  Delwin, 


THE  LADIES'  BALL.  235 

"  to  exert  yourself  to  appear  as  usual.     Come,  take  my  arm, 
and  we  will  go  and  talk  nonsense  to  Apesley  Sappington." 

Lucinda  did  make  an  effort  to  resume  her  usual  vivacity. 
But  it  was  evidently  forced.  She  relapsed  continually :  and 
she  resembled  an  actress  that  is  one  moment  playing  with  her 
wonted  spirit,  and  the  next  moment  forgetting  her  part. 

"So,"  said  Colonel  Kingswood  to  Fitzsimmons,  after  Lu 
cinda  had  left  them  together,  "  I  am  to  infer  that  you  are 
are  really  in  love  with  Miss  Mandeville  ?" 

"  Ardently — passionately — and  I  long  to  tell  her  so  in 
earnest/7  replied  Fitzsimmons)  and  he  took  up  the  feather 
that  Lucinda  in  her  agitation  had  dropped  from  her  hand. 

"  Of  course,  then,  you  will  make  your  proposal  to-morrow 
morning,"  said  the  colonel. 

"  No/'  replied  Fitzsimmons,  concealing  the  feather  within 
the  breast  of  his  coat.  "  I  cannot  so  wound  her  delicacy.  I 
see  that  she  is  disconcerted  at  the  little  scene  into  which  we 
inadvertently  drew  her,  and  alarmed  at  the  idea  that  perhaps 
she  allowed  herself  to  go  too  far.  I  respect  her  feelings,  and 
I  will  spare  them.  But  to  me  she  has  long  been  the  most 
charming  woman  in  existence." 

"  What,  then,"  inquired  the  colonel,  "  has  retarded  the 
disclosure  of  your  secret,  if  secret  it  may  be  called  ?" 

"  Her  superiority  in  point  of  fortune,"  replied  Fitzsimmons. 
"You  know  the  small  amount  of  property  left  me  by  my 
father,  and  that  in  my  profession  I  am  as  yet  but  a  beginner  j 
though  I  must  own  that  my  prospects  of  success  are  highly 
encouraging.  To  say  nothing  of  my  repugnance  to  reversing 
the  usual  order  of  the  married  state,  and  drawing  the  chief 
part  of  our  expenditure  from  the  money  of  my  wife,  how  could 
I  expect  to  convince  her  that  my  motives  in  seeking  her  hand 
were  otherwise  than  mercenary  ?" 

"  Are  they  ?"  said  Colonel  Kingswood,  with  a  half  smile. 

"  No,  on  my  soul  they  are  not,"  replied  Fitzsimmons,  ear 
nestly.  "  Were  our  situations  reversed,  I  would,  without  a 
moment's  hesitation,  lay  all  that  I  possessed  at  her  feet,  and 
think  myself  the  most  honoured,  the  most  fortunate  of  men 
if  I  could  obtain  a  gem  whose  intrinsic  value  requires  not  the 
aid  of  a  gold  setting." 

"  Do  you  suppose,  then,"  said  Colonel  Kingswood,  "  that 

a  lovely  and  elegant   woman  like  Miss  Lucinda  Mandeville 

can  have  so  humble  an  opinion  of  herself  as  to  suppose  that 

she  owes  all  her  admirers  to  her  wealth,  and  that  there  is 

20 


236  THE  LADIES'  BALL. 

nothing  attractive  about  her  but  her  bank-stock  and  her 
houses  ?" 

"  Since  I  first  knew  Miss  Mandeville,"  replied  Fitzsimmons, 
<(  I  have  secretly  cherished  the  hope  of  being  one  day  worthy 
of  her  acceptance.  And  this  hope  has  incited  me  to  be  doubly 
assiduous  in  my  profession,  with  the  view  of  ultimately  ac 
quiring  both  wealth  and  distinction.  And  when  I  have  made 
a  name,  as  well  as  a  fortune,  I  shall  have  no  scruples  in  offer- 
ing  myself  to  her  acceptance/' 

11  And  before  all  this  is  accomplished,"  observed  the  colonel, 
"  some  lucky  fellow,  with  a  ready-made  fortune,  and  a  ready- 
made  name,  or,  more  probably,  some  bold  adventurer  with 
neither,  may  fearlessly  step  in  and  carry  off  the  prize." 

"  There  is  madness  in  the  thought !"  exclaimed  Fitzsim- 
mons,  putting  his  hand  to  his  forehead. 

ft  Did  it  never  strike  you  before  ?"  inquired  the  colonel. 

"It  has,  it  has,"  cried  Fitzsimmons  ;  "  a  thousand  times  has 
it  passed  like  a  dark  cloud  over  the  sunshine  of  my  hopes." 

"  Take  my  advice,"  said  the  colonel,  "  and  address  Miss 
Mandeville  at  once." 

"  Fool  that  I  was  !"  exclaimed  Fitzsimmons,  "  how  could  I 
be  so  utterly  absurd — so  devoid  of  all  tact,  as  to  reply  to  her 
unguarded  badinage  in  a  tone  of  reality !  No  wonder  she 
looked  so  disconcerted,  so  shocked.  At  this  moment,  how  she 
must  hate  me !" 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  observed  the  colonel ;  "  but 
take  my  advice,  and  let  the  etourderie  of  this  evening  be  re 
paired  by  the  opening  it  affords  you  of  disclosing  your  real 
feelings  to  the  object  of  your  love." 

"  I  cannot,"  replied  Fitzsimmons,  "  I  cannot,  after  what 
has  passed,  run  the  risk  of  giving  farther  offence  to  her 
delicacy." 

"  Her  delicacy,"  remarked  the  colonel,  "  may  be  more 
deeply  offended  by  your  delaying  the  disclosure.  But  we 
must  separate  for  the  present.  If  Miss  Mandeville  sees  us 
talking  together  so  earnestly,  she  may  justly  suppose  herself 
the  object  of  discussion." 

The  two  gentlemen  parted;  and  Fitzsimmons,  feeling  it 
impossible  to  speak  to  Lucinda  again  that  evening,  and  having 
no  inclination  to  talk  to  any  one  else,  withdrew  from  the  ball, 
and  passed  two  hours  in  traversing  his  own  room. 

After  the  departure  of  her  lover,  Lucinda  felt  more  at  her 
ease ;  particularly  as  Colonel  Kingswood  was  so  considerate  as 


THE  LADIES'  BALL.  237 

to  avoid  approaching  her.  During  the  remainder  of  the  even 
ing,  she  exerted  herself  with  such  success  as  to  recall  a  portion 
of  her  natural  sprightliness,  and  of  the  habitual  self-command 
that  she  had  acquired  from  living  in  the  world  of  fashion. 

Supper  was  announced.  The  ladies,  persisting  in  their 
assumed  characters,  conducted  the  gentlemen  to  the  table, 
where  the  profusion  and  variety  of  the  delicacies  that  composed 
the  feast,  could  only  be  equalled  by  the  taste  and  elegance 
with  which  they  were  decorated  and  arranged.  The  belles 
filled  the  plates  of  the  beaux,  and  poured  out  the  wine  for 
them  ]  and  many  pretty  things  were  said  about  ambrosia  and 
nectar. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  banquet,  the  band  in  the  orchestra, 
on  a  signal  from  some  of  the  gentlemen,  struck  up  the  sym 
phony  to  a  favourite  air  that  chiefly  owes  its  popularity  to  the 
words  with  which  Moore  has  introduced  it  into  his  melodies ; 
and  "  To  ladies'  eyes  a  round,  boys,"  was  sung  in  concert  by 
all  the  best  male  voices  in  the  room.  The  song  went  off  with 
much  eclat,  and  made  a  pleasant  conclusion  to  the  evening. 

After  the  belles  had  curtsied  out  the  beaux,  and  retired  to 
the  cloak-room  to  equip  themselves  for  their  departure,  they 
found  the  gentlemen  all  waiting  to  see  them  to  their  carriages, 
and  assist  in  escorting  them  home :  declaring  that  as  the  play 
was  over,  and  the  curtain  dropped,  they  must  be  allowed  to 
resume  their  real  characters. 

When  Lucinda  Mandeville  arrived  at  her  own  house,  and 
found  herself  alone  in  her  dressing-room,  all  the  smothered 
emotions  of  the  evening  burst  forth  without  restraint,  and 
leaning  her  head  on  the  arm  of  the  sofa,  she  indulged  in  a 
long  fit  of  tears  before  she  proceeded  to  take  off  her  ornaments. 
But  when  she  went  to  her  psyche  for  that  purpose,  she  could 
not  help  feeling  that  hers  was  not  a  face  and  figure  to  be  seen 
with  indifference,  and  that  in  all  probability  the  unguarded 
warmth  with  which  Fitzsimmons  had  replied  to  her  mock 
courtship,  was  only  the  genuine  ebullition  of  a  sincere  and 
ardent  passion. 

It  was  long  before  she  could  compose  herself  to  sleep,  and 
her  dreams  were  entirely  of  the  ball  and  of  Fitzsimmons. 
When  she  arose  next  morning,  she  determined  to  remain  all 
day  up  stairs,  and  to  see  no  visitors;  rejoicing  that  the  fatigue 
of  the  preceding  evening  would  probably  keep  most  of  her 
friends  at  home. 

About  noon,  Gordon  Fitzsimmons,  who  had  counted  the 


238  THE  LADIES'  BALL. 

moments  till  then,  sent  up  his  card  with  a  pencilled  request  to 
sec  Miss  Mandeville.  Terrified,  agitated,  and  feeling  as  if 
she  never  again  could  raise  her  eyes  to  his  face,  or  open  her 
lips  in  his  presence,  Lucinda's  first  thought  was  to  reply  that 
she  was  indisposed,  but  she  checked  herself  from  sending  him 
such  a  message,  first,  because  it  was  not  exactly  the  truth,  and 
secondly,  lest  he  should  suppose  that  the  cause  of  her  illness 
might  have  some  reference  to  himself.  She  therefore  desired 
the  servant  simply  to  tell  Mr.  Fitzsimmons  that  Miss  Mande 
ville  could  receive  no  visitors  that  day. 

But  Fitzsimmons  was  not  now  to  be  put  off.  He  had  been 
shown  into  one  of  the  parlours,  and  going  to  the  writing-case 
on  the  centre-table,  he  took  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  addressed  to 
her  an  epistle  expressing  in  the  most  ardent  terms  his  admira 
tion  and  his  love,  and  concluding  with  the  hope  that  she  would 
grant  him  an  interview.  There  was  not,  of  course,  the  slight 
est  allusion  to  the  events  of  the  preceding  evening.  The  letter 
was  conceived  with  as  much  delicacy  as  warmth,  and  highly 
elevated  the  writer  in  the  opinion  of  the  reader.  Still,  she 
hesitated  whether  to  sec  him  or  not.  Her  heart  said  yes — 
but  her  pride  said  no.  And  at  length  she  most  heroically 
determined  to  send  him  a  written  refusal,  not  only  of  the 
interview  but  of  himself,  that  in  case  he  should  have  dared  to 
presume  that  the  unfortunate  scene  at  the  ball  could  possibly 
have  meant  anything  more  than  a  jest,  so  preposterous  an  idea 
might  be  banished  from  his  mind  for  ever. 

In  this  spirit  she  commenced  several  replies  to  his  letter, 
but  found  it  impossible  to  indite  them  in  such  terms  as  to 
satisfy  herself ;  and,  after  wasting  half  a  dozen  sheets  of  paper 
with  unsuccessful  beginnings,  she  committed  them  all  to  the 
fire.  Finally,  she  concluded  that  she  could  explain  herself 
more  effectually  in  a  personal  interview,  whatever  embarrass 
ment  the  sight  of  him  might  occasion  her.  But  not  being 
able  at  this  time  to  summon  courage  to  meet  him  face  to  face, 
she  sent  down  a  note  of  three  lines,  informing  Mr.  Fitzsim- 
mon.s  that  she  would  see  him  in  the  evening  at  seven  o'clock. 

Several  of  Lucinda's  friends  called  to  talk  about  the  ball, 
but  she  excused  herself  from  seeing  them,  and  passed  the 
remainder  of  the  day  up  stairs,  in  one  long  thought  of  Fitz- 
,si nmions,  and  in  dwelling  on  the  painful  idea  that  the  avowal 
of  his  sentiments  had,  in  all  probability,  been  elicited  by  her 
indiscretion  of  the  preceding  evening.  "  But/'  said  she  to 
herself,  "I  wilJ  steadily  persist  in  declining  his  addresses;  I 


THE  LADIES'  BALL.  289 

will  positively  refuse  him,  for  unless  I  do  so,  I  never  can  reco 
ver  my  own  self-respect.  I  will  make  this  sacrifice  to  delicacy, 
and  even  then  I  shall  never  cease  to  regret  my  folly  in  having 
allowed  myself  to  be  carried  so  far  in  the  thoughtless  levity 
of  the  moment," 

Being  thus  firmly  resolved  on  dismissing  her  admirer,  it  is 
not  to  be  supposed  that  Lucinda  could  attach  the  smallest  con 
sequence  to  looking  well  that  evening,  during  what  she  consi 
dered  their  final  interview.  Therefore  we  must,  of  course, 
attribute  to  accident  the  length  of  time  she  spent  in  consider 
ing  which  she  should  wear  of  two  new  silk  dresses ;  one  being 
of  the  colour  denominated  ashes  of  roses — the  other  of  the  tint 
designated  as  monkey's  sighs.  Though  ashes  of  roses  seemed 
emblematic  of  an  extinguished  flame,  yet  monkey's  sighs  bore 
more  direct  reference  to  a  rejected  lover,  which,  perhaps,  was 
the  reason  that  she  finally  decided  on  it.  There  was  likewise 
a  considerable  demur  about  a  can,zou  and  a  pelerine,  but 
eventually  the  latter  carried  the  day.  And  it  was  long,  also, 
before  she  could  determine  on  the  most  becoming  style  of 
arranging  her  hair,  wavering  between  plaits  and  braids.  At  last 
the  braids  had  it. 

Mr.  Fitzsimmons  was  announced  a  quarter  before  seven,  his 
watch  being  undoubtedly  too  fast.  Lucinda  came  down  in  ill- 
concealed  perturbation,  repeating  to  herself,  as  she  descended 
the  stairs,  "  Yes — my  rejection  of  him  shall  be  positive — and 
my  adherence  to  it  firm  and  inexorable/7 

Whether  it  was  so  we  will  not  presume  to  say,  but  this 
much  is  certain — that  in  a  month  from  that  time  the  delin 
quent  gentlemen  made  the  amende  honorable  by  giving  the 
ladies  a  most  splendid  ball,  at  which  the  ci-devant  Miss  Man- 
deville  and  Mr.  Gordon  Fitzsimmons  made  their  first  appear 
ance  in  public  as  bride  and  bridegroom,  to  the  great  delight  of 
Colonel  Kingswood. 


20 ; 


THE   RED  BOX, 

• 

OR, 

SCENES  AT  THE  GENERAL  WAYNE. 

A    TALE. 

"  Just  of  the  same  piece 

Is  every  flatterer's  spirit." — SHAKSPEARE. 

IN  one  of  the  most  beautiful  counties  of  Pennsylvania,  and 
in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  Susquehanna,  stood  an  old 
fashioned  country  tavern,  known  by  the  designation  of  the 
General  Wayne.  Of  its  landlord  and  his  family,  and  of  some 
little  incidents  that  took  place  within  its  precincts  about  forty 
years  ago,  it  is  our  purpose  to  relate  a  few  particulars. 

The  proprietor  of  the  house  and  of  the  fine  farm  that  sur 
rounded  it,  was  by  birth  a  New-Englander ;  and  having  served 
in  Washington's  army  during  the  whole  of  the  revolutionary 
war,  he  was  still  distinguished  by  the  title  of  Colonel  Brig- 
ham.  When,  on  the  return  of  peace,  he  resumed  his  original 
occupation  of  farming,  he  concluded  to  settle  on  the  genial  soil 
of  Pennsylvania,  and  removed  thither  with  his  wife,  their 
little  daughter,  and  an  adopted  child  named  Oliver,  a  fine  boy 
whom  they  boasted  of  loving  equally  with  their  own  Fanny ; 
that  he  was  equally  indulged  admitted  not  of  a  doubt. 

As  Oliver  advanced  to  manhood  he  took  the  chief  charge  of 
the  farm,  and  Mrs.  13righam  with  great  difficulty  prevailed  on 
her  husband  to  set  up  an  inn ;  partly  to  give  himself  more  oc 
cupation,  and  partly  because  his  boundless  hospitality  in  enter- 

(240) 


THE  RED  BOX.  241 

taming  gratuitously  all  strangers  that  came  into  the  neighbour 
hood,  had  become  rather  too  much  of  a  tax. 

Accordingly,  a  range  of  stalls  for  horses  was  erected  at  a 
nhort  distance  from  the  house,  which  was  beautified  with  a 
new  porch,  running  all  along  the  front,  and  furnished  with 
green  benches.  A  village  artist  (who  was  not  only  a  painter, 
but  a  glazier  also)  was  employed  to  contrive  a  sign,  which  it 
was  expected  would  surpass  all  that  had  ever  been  seen  in  the 
country  j  it  being  neither  Buck  nor  Fox,  neither  Black  Horse, 
Green  Tree,  Conestoga  Wagon,  or  any  of  those  every -day  things. 

The  painter's  ideas  were  committed  to  board  in  the  shape 
of  the  landlord's  old  commander,  General  Anthony  Wayne. 
This  effigy  was  evidently  designed  for  that  of  a  human  being, 
but  the  artist  had  begun  the  upper  part  on  so  large  a  scale, 
that  there  was  little  or  no  room  for  the  body  and  limbs ;  the 
gallant  general  looking  as  if  crushed  down  by  the  weight  of 
his  hat  and  head.  He  stood  upon  a  narrow  strip  of  verdigris 
green,  with  his  two  heels  together,  and  his  toes  wonderfully 
turned  out.  The  facings  of  his  coat,  and  all  his  under-clothes, 
were  of  gold.  He  wielded  in  one  hand  an  enormous  sword — 
the  other  held  out  a  pistol  in  the  act  of  going  off — and  he 
leaned  on  a  cannon  from  whence  issued  a  flash  of  scarlet  fire, 
and  a  cloud  of  sky-blue  smoke. 

It  is  true,  that  when  the  sign  came  home,  the  colonel  made 
many  objections  to  it,  declaring  that  gold  breeches  had  never 
been  worn  in  the  continental  army,  and  that  no  man  ever  stood 
still  leaning  on  a  gun  at  the  moment  it  was  discharged — 
neither  did  he  think  it  by  any  means  a  good  likeness  of 
General  Wayne.  But  Mrs.  Brigham  reminded  her  husband 
that  there  was  no  use  in  telling  all  this  to  everybody,  and 
that  it  might  suit  some  people's  ideas  of  General  Wayne — 
adding,  that  she  never  saw  a  sign  that  was  a  good  likeness, 
except  Timothy  Grimshaw's  White  Lion,  which  looked  exactly 
like  Timothy  himself. 

Oliver  averred  that  the  artist  was  certainly  a  liberal  man, 
and  had  given  them  the  full  worth  of  their  money,  for  beside 
the  gilding,  there  was  more  paint  on  it  than  on  any  sign  he 
had  ever  seen. 

Their  neighbour,  Tempy  Walters,  was,  however,  of  opinion 
that  they  had  been  greatly  overcharged,  for  that  a  man  had 
juinted  her  brother's  cellar-door  (which  was  considerably  larger 
than  this  sign)  for  half  the  money.  "To  be  sure,"  added 
Tempy,  "  there  was  no  gold  on  the  cellar-door — but  it  must 
have  taken  twice  the  paint." 


242  THE  RED  BOX, 

To  be  "brief,  the  colonel  dismissed  the  case  by  paying  the 
artist  rather  more  than  he  asked — telling  him,  also,  that  he 
should  be  glad  to  see  him  at  his  house  whenever  he  chose  to 
come,  and  that  his  visits  should  not  cost  him  a  cent. 

There  never,  perhaps,  was  a  less  profitable  tavern  than  the 
General  Wayne.  The  people  of  the  neighbourhood  were  ama 
zingly  sober,  and  Mrs.  Brigham  allowed  no  tipplers  to  lounge 
about  the  bar-room  or  porch.  The  charges  were  so  moderate 
as  scarcely  to  cover  the  actual  cost  of  the  good  things  which 
were  so  profusely  lavished  on  the  table,  and  the  family  could 
not  relinquish  the  habit  of  treating  their  guests  as  visitors  and 
friends.  Colonel  Brigham  always  found  some  reason  why  such 
and  such  articles  were  not  worth  considering  at  all,  and  why 
such  and  such  people  could  not  afford  to  pay  as  well  as  he 
could  afford  to  give  them  food  and  shelter.  On  soldiers,  of 
course,  he  bestowed  gratuitous  entertainment,  and  was  never 
more  delighted  than  when  he  saw  them  coming.  Pedlers  and 
tinmen  always  took  it — and  emigrants  on  their  way  to  the  back 
settlements  were  invariably  told  to  keep  their  money  to  help 
pay  for  their  land. 

But  though  tavern-keeping  did  not  realize  the  anticipations 
of  Mrs.  Brigham  in  operating  as  a  check  on  the  hospitality  of 
her  husband,  still,  as  she  said,  it  kept  him  about  the  house, 
and  prevented  him  from  heating  and  fatiguing  himself  in  the 
fields,  and  from  interfering  with  Oliver  in  the  management  of 
the  farm — Oliver  always  doing  best  when  left  to  himself.  It 
must  be  understood  that  this  youth,  though  virtually  a  de 
pendant  on  the  bounty  of  the  Brighams,  evinced  as  free  and 
determined  a  spirit  as  if  he  had  been  literally  "  monarch  of  all 
he  surveyed."  He  was  active,  industrious,  frank  to  a  fault, 
brave  and  generous ;  and  would  have  fought  at  any  moment  in 
defence  of  any  member  of  the  family  j  or,  indeed,  for  any 
member  of  any  other  family,  if  he  conceived  them  to  have 
been  injured. 

Between  Oliver  and  Fanny  Brigham  there  was  as  yet  no 
demonstration  of  any  particular  attachment.  They  had  been 
brought  up  so  much  like  brother  and  sister  that  they  seemed  not 
to  know  when  to  begin  to  fall  in  love.  Fanny  coquetted  with  the 
smart  young  men  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  Oliver  flirted  with 
the  pretty  girls  j  not  seeming  to  perceive  that  Fanny  was  the 
prettiest  of  all.  The  old  people,  however,  had  it  very  much 
at  heart  for  a  match  to  take  place  between  the  young  people, 
as  the  best  preventive  to  Oliver  "  going  west "  (a  thing  he 


THE   RED   BOX.  243 

sometimes  talked  of,  in  common  with  the  generality  of  young 
farmers),  and  therefore  they  watched  closely,  and  were  always 
fancying  that  they  detected  symptoms  of  real  bona  Jide  love. 
If  the  young  people  quarrelled,  it  was  better  so  than  that  they 
should  feel  nothing  for  each  other  but  mutual  indifference.  If 
they  appeared  indifferent,  it  was  supposed  that  Fanny  was 
modestly  veiling  her  genuine  feelings,  and  that  Oliver  was 
disguising  his  to  try  the  strength  of  hers.  If  they  talked  and 
laughed  together,  they  were  animated  by  each  other's  society. 
If  they  were  silent,  they  had  the  matter  under  serious  consi 
deration.  If  Fanny  received  with  complaisance  the  civilities 
of  a  rural  beau,  and  if  Oliver  devoted  his  attention  to  a  rural 
belle,  it  was  only  to  excite  each  other's  jealousy.  On  one 
thing,  however,  the  old  people  were  agreed — which  was,  that 
it  was  best  not  to  hurry  matters.  In  this  they  judged  from 
their  own  experience;  for  Mrs.  Brigham  had  lost  her  first 
lover  (a  man  that  had  come  to  see  her  every  Wednesday  and 
Saturday  for  five  years  and  a  half)  because  her  father  prema 
turely  asked  him  what  his  intentions  were.  And  Colonel 
Brigham  had  been  refused  no  less  than  nine  times,  in  conse 
quence  of  "popping  the  question"  at  his  first  interview — a 
way  he  had  when  he  was  young. 

So  equal,  however,  was  their  love  for  the  two  children  (as 
they  still  continued  to  call  them),  so  anxious  were  they  to 
keep  Oliver  always  with  them,  and  so  impossible  did  it  seem 
to  them  to  think  of  any  other  young  man  as  a  son-in-law,  that 
they  would  have  sacrificed  much  to  bring  about  so  desirable  a 
conclusion.  But  we  have  been  loitering  too  long  on  the  brink 
of  our  story,  and  it  is  time  we  were  fairly  afloat. 

One  clear,  mild  autumnal  evening,  Colonel  Brigham  (who 
for  himself  never  liked  benches)  was  occupying  a  few  chairs 
in  his  front  porch,  and  reading  several  newspapers ;  looking 
occasionally  towards  a  cider-press  under  a  large  tree,  round 
which  lay  a  mountain  of  apples  that  a  horse  and  a  black  boy 
were  engaged  in  grinding.  The  colonel  was  habited  in  striped 
homespun  trousers,  a  dark  brown  waistcoat  with  silver  buttons, 
and  no  coat — but  he  took  great  pride  in  always  wearing  a  clean 
shirt  of  fine  country-made  linen.  As  relics  of  his  former  mi 
litary  capacity,  he  persisted  in  a  three-cocked  hat  and  a  black 
stock.  He  had  joined  the  army  in  the  meridian  of  life,  and 
he  was  now  a  large,  stout,  handsome  old  man,  with  a  clear 
blue  eye,  and  silver  gray  hair  curling  on  each  side  of  a  broad 


244  THE   RED    BOX. 

high  forehead.  Suddenly  a  stage  that  passed  the  house  twice 
a  week,  stopped  before  the  door.  The  only  passengers  in  it 
were  an  old  gentleman  who  occupied  the  back  seat,  and  four 
young  ones  that  sat  on  the  two  others,  all  with  their  faces 
towards  him. 

"Can  we  be  accommodated  at  this  inn  for  a  few  days?" 
said  the  elder  stranger,  looking  out  at  the  side.  Colonel  Brig- 
harn  replied  in  the  affirmative,  adding  that  just  then  there 
were  no  guests  in  the  house.  "  So  much  the  better,"  said  the 
old  gentleman  ;  a  I  like  the  appearance  of  this  part  of  the 
country,  and  may  as  well  be  here  for  a  little  while  as  any 
where  else."  And  making  a  sign  to  the  young  ones,  they  all 
four  scrambled  out  of  the  stage  with  such  eagerness  as  nearly 
to  fall  over  each  other — and  every  one  took  a  part  in  assisting 
him  down  the  steps,  two  holding  him  by  the  hands,  and  two 
by  the  elbows.  But  as  soon  as  his  feet  touched  the  ground, 
he  shook  them  all  off  as  if  scattering  them  to  the  four  winds. 
He  was  a  small  slender  old  man,  but  of  a  florid  complexion, 
and  showed  no  indication  of  infirm  health,  but  the  excessive 
care  that  he  took  of  himself — being  enveloped  in  a  great  coat, 
over  it  a  fur  tippet  round  his  neck,  and  his  hat  was  tied  down, 
with  a  silk  handkerchief. 

"  Sir,  you  are  welcome  to  the  General  Wayne,"  said  Colonel 
Brigham,  "  though  I  cannot  say  much  for  the  sign.  That  was 
not  the  way  brave  Anthony  looked  at  Stony  Point.  May  I 
ask  the  favour  of  your  name  ?" 

The  stranger  looked  at  first  as  if  unaccustomed  to  this 
question,  and  unwilling  to  answer  it.  However,  after  a  pause, 
he  deigned  to  designate  himself  as  Mr.  Culpepper,  and  slightly 
mentioned  the  four  young  men  as  his  nephews,  the  Mr.  Lam- 
bleys.  There  was  a  family  likeness  throughout  the  brothers. 
They  were  all  tall  and  slender — all  had  the  same  fawn-coloured 
hair,  the  same  cheeks  of  a  dull  pink,  the  same  smiling  mouths 
habitually  turned  up  at  the  corners,  and  faces  that  looked  as 
if  all  expression  had  been  subdued  out  of  them,  except  that 
their  greenish-gray  eyes  had  the  earnest  intent  look,  that  is 
generally  found  in  those  of  dumb  people. 

Mr.  Culpepper  was  conducted  into  a  parlour,  where  (though 
the  evening  was  far  from  cold)  he  expressed  his  satisfaction  at 
finding  a  fire.  He  deposited  on  the  broad  mantel-piece  a  small 
red  morocco  box  which  he  had  carried  under  his  arm,  and 
while  his  nephews  (who  had  all  been  to  see  the  baggage  de 
posited)  were  engaged  in  disrobing  him  of  his  extra  habili- 


THE   RED   BOX.  245 

ments,  lie  addressed  himself  to  Colonel  Brigham,  whom  he 
seemed  to  regard  with  particular  complaisance. 

"  "Well,  landlord,"  said  he,  "  you  are,  perhaps,  surprised  at 
my  stopping  here  ?" 

"Not  at  all,"  said  the  colonel. 

"  The  truth  is,"  pursued  Mr.  Culpepper,  "  I  am  travelling 
for  my  health,  and  therefore  I  am  taking  cross-roads,  and 
stopping  at  out  of  the  way  places.  For  there  is  no  health  to 
be  got  by  staying  in  cities,  and  putting  up  at  crowded  hotels, 
and  accepting  invitations  to  dinner-parties  and  tea-parties,  or 
in  doing  anything  else  that  is  called  fashionable." 

"  Give  me  your  hand,  sir,"  said  Colonel  Brigham;  "you  are 
a  man  after  my  own  heart !" 

The  four  Mr.  Lambleys  stared  at  the  landlord's  temerity, 
and  opened  their  eyes  still  wider  when  they  saw  it  taken  per 
fectly  well,  and  that  their  uncle  actually  shook  hands  with  the 
innkeeper.  This  emboldened  them  to  murmur  something  in 
chorus  about  their  all  disliking  fashion. 

"  And  pray,"  said  old  Culpepper,  "  why  should  you  do 
that  ?  ;Tis  just  as  natural  for  young  people  to  like  folly,  as 
it  is  for  old  people  to  be  tired  of  it.  And  I  am  certain  you 
have  never  seen  so  much  of  fashion  as  to  be  surfeited  with  it 
already." 

The  nephews  respectfully  assented. 

It  had  already  come  to  the  knowledge  of  Mrs.  Brigham 
(who  was  busily  occupied  up  stairs  in  filling  with  new  feathers 
some  pillow-ticks  which  Fanny  was  making)  that  a  party  of 
distinguished  strangers  had  arrived.  "  Fanny,  Fanny,"  she 
exclaimed,  opening  the  door  of  the  adjoining  room,  in  which 
Fanny  was  seated  at  her  sewing,  "  there  are  great  people 
below  stairs.  Get  fixed  in  a  moment,  and  go  down  and  speak 
to  them.  I  am  glad  your  father  has  had  sense  enough  to  take 
them  into  the  front  parlour." 

"  But,  mother,"  replied  Fanny,  "  I  saw  them  from  the 
window  when  they  got  out  of  the  stage.  They  are  all  men 
people,  and  I  know  I  shall  be  ashamed,  as  they  are  quite 
strange  to  me,  and  I  suppose  are  very  great  gentlemen.  Won't 
it  suit  better  for  you  to  go  ?" 

"  Don't  you  see  how  the  feathers  are  all  over  me  ?"  said 
Mrs.  Brigham :  "  it  will  take  me  an  hour  to  get  them  well 
picked  off,  and  myself  washed  and  dressed.  Get  fixed  at  once, 
and  go  down  and  let  the  strangers  see  that  the  women  of  the 
house  have  proper  manners.  If  you  think  you'll  feel  better 


246  THE   RED   BOX. 

with  something  in  your  hands,  make  some  milk  punch,  and 
take  it  in  to  them." 

Fanny's  habitual  neatness  precluded  any  real  necessity  for 
an  alteration  in  her  dress — but  still  she  thought  it  expedient  to 
put  on  a  new  glossy  blue  gingham  gown,  and  a  clean  muslin 
collar  with  a  nicely  plaited  frill  round  it.  This  dress  would 
have  been  very  well,  but  that  Fanny,  in  her  desire  to  appear 
to  great  advantage,  added  a  long  sash  of  red  and  green  plaid 
riband,  and  a  large  white  satin  bow  deposited  in  the  curve  of 
her  comb.  Then,  having  turned  herself  round  three  or  four 
times  before  the  glass,  to  ascertain  the  effect,  she  descended 
the  stairs,  and  in  the  entry  met  Oliver,  who  had  just  come  in 
at  the  front  door,  and  had  seen  from  the  barn-yard  the  arrival 
of  the  guests. 

"  Fanny,"  said  Oliver,  "  why  have  you  put  on  that  great 
white  top-knot  ?  It  makes  you  look  like  one  of  the  cockatoos 
in  the  Philadelphia  Museum.  Let  me  take  it  off." 

"  Oh  !  Oliver,  Oliver  !"  exclaimed  Fanny,  putting  her  hands 
to  her  head,  "how  you  have  spoiled  my  hair  !" 

"  And  this  long  sash  streaming  out  at  one  side,"  pursued 
Oliver,  "how  ridiculous  it  looks!"  And  he  dexterously 
twitched  it  off,  saying,  "  There,  take  these  fly-traps  up  stairs 
— they  only  disfigure  you.  I  thought  so  the  other  day  when 
you  wore  them  at  Mary  Shortstitch's  sewing  frolic.  You  are 
much  better  without  them." 

"  But  I  am  not"  said  Fanny,  angrily  snatching  them  from 
his  hand;  "look  how  you've  crumpled  them  up  !  Instead  of 
finding  fault  with  me  for  wishing  to  look  respectfully  to  the 
strangers,  you  had  best  go  and  make  yourself  fit  to  be  seen." 

"I  always  am  fit  to  be  seen,"  replied  Oliver,  "and  you 
know  very  well  that  I  always  do  put  myself  in  order  as  soon 
as  I  have  done  my  work.  But  as  for  dressing  up  in  any  re 
markable  finery  on  account  of  four  or  five  strange  men,  it  is 
not  in  my  line  to  do  so.  If,  indeed,  there  were  some  smart 
girls  along,  it  would  be  a  different  thing :  but  it  is  not  my  way 
to  show  too  much  respect  to  any  man." 

"  I  believe  you,  indeed,"  remarked  Fanny. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Oliver,  "  your  hair  is  pretty  enough  of 
itself— and  you  fix  it  so  nicely  that  it  wants  no  top-knot  to  set 
it  off;  and  this  party-coloured  sash  only  spoils  the  look  of  your 
waist.  I  hate  to  see  you  make  a  fool  of  yourself." 

Fanny  tossed  her  head  in  affected  disdain,  but  she  smiled 
as  she  ran  up  stairs  to  put  away  the  offending  ribands.  She 


THE   RED   BOX.  247 

found  her  mother  leaning  down  over  the  banisters,  and  looking 
very  happy  at  Oliver's  desire  that  Fanny  should  not  make  a 
fool  of  herself. 

Fanny,  having  prepared  the  milk-punch  in  the  best  possible 
manner,  filled  half  a  dozen  tumblers  with  it,  grating  a  profusion 
of  nutmeg  over  each,  and  then  arranged  them  on  a  small 
waiter.  When  she  entered  the  parlour  with  it,  Mr.  Culpepper, 
who  called  himself  a  confirmed  invalid,  was  engaged  in  giving 
her  father  a  particular  description  of  all  his  ailments  ]  and  the 
four  nephews  were  listening  with  an  air  of  intense  interest,  as 
if  it  was  the  first  they  had  heard  of  them. 

"  This  is  my  daughter,  Fanny,"  said  Colonel  Brigham,  and 
Mr.  Culpepper  stopped  short  in  his  narrative,  and  his  nephews 
all  turned  their  eyes  to  look  at  her.  When  she  handed  the 
milk-punch  the  old  gentleman  declined  it,  alleging  that  the 
state  of  his  health  did  not  permit  him  to  taste  any  sort  of 
liquor.  His  nephews  were  going  to  follow  his  example,  till 
he  said  to  them  peremptorily — 

"  Take  it — there  is  nothing  the  matter  with  any  of  you.  If 
there  is,  say  so." 

The  Mr.  Lambleys  all  rose  to  receive  their  tumblers,  their 
uncle  having  made  them  a  sign  to  that  purpose,  and  Fanny 
thought  herself  treated  with  great  respect,  and  curtsied, 
blushingly,  to  every  one  as  he  set  down  his  glass. 

"  From  such  a  Hebe  it  is  difficult  to  refuse  nectar,"  said  the 
old  gentleman,  gallantly. 

"  A  Hebe,  indeed  !"  echoed  the  nephews. 

The  uncle  frowned  at  them,  and  they  all  looked  foolish — 
even  more  so  than  usual. 

"  Now,  Fanny,  my  dear,"  said  her  father,  "  you  may  go  out, 
and  send  in  Oliver." 

"  Mother,"  said  Fanny,  as  she  joined  Mrs.  Brigham  in  the 
pantry,  "  I  like  these  strangers  quite  well.  They  were  very 
polite  indeed — but  they  called  me  Phebe — I  wonder  why  ?" 

When  Oliver  made  his  appearance,  Colonel  Brigham  intro 
duced  him  as  "  a  boy  he  had  raised,  and  who  was  just  the  same 
as  a  son  to  him."  Mr.  Culpepper  surveyed  Oliver  from  head  to 
foot,  saying,  "  Upon  my  word — a  fine-looking  youth  !  Straight 
— athletic — brown  and  ruddy — dark  hair  and  eyes — some 
meaning  in  his  face.  See,  young  men — there's  a  pattern  for 
you." 

The  four  Mr.  Lambleys  exchanged  looks,  and  tried  in  vain 
to  conceal  their  inclination  to  laugh. 
21 


248  THE  RED   BOX. 

"  Behave  yourselves,"  said  the  uncle,  in  a  stem  voice. 

The  nephews  behaved. 

The  supper  table  was  now  set,  and  Mr.  Culpcpper  had  be 
come  so  gracious  with  his  landlord,  as  to  propose  that  he  and 
his  nephews  should  eat  with  the  family  during  their  stay. 
"  That  is  what  my  guests  always  do,"  said  Colonel  Brigham ; 
"and  then  we  can  see  that  all  is  right,  and  that  they  are  well 
served/' 

"When  supper  came  in,  Mr.  Culpepper  declined  leaving  the 
fire-side ;  and  having  previously  had  some  cocoa  brought  from 
one  of  his  travelling  boxes,  and  prepared  according  to  his  own 
directions,  he  commenced  his  repast  on  a  small  round  table  or 
stand,  that  was  placed  beside  him,  declaring  that  his  evening 
meal  never  consisted  of  anything  more  than  a  little  cocoa,  sa 
go,  or  arrow-root. 

But  after  taking  a  survey  of  the  variety  of  nice-looking 
things  that  were  profusely  spread  on  the  supper-table,  the  old 
gentleman  so  far  broke  through  his  rule,  as  to  say  he  would 
try  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  rusk.  When  Mrs.  Brigham  had  poured 
it  out,  the  four  nephews,  who  at  their  uncle's  sign  manual  had 
just  taken  their  seats  at  the  table,  all  started  up  at  once  to 
hand  him  his  cup,  though  there  was  a  black  boy  in  attendance. 
The  business  was  finally  adjusted  by  one  of  the  Mr.  Lambleys 
taking  the  tea-cup,  one  the  cream-jug,  one  the  sugar-dish,  and 
one  the  plate  of  rusk;  and  he  of  the  cup  was  kept  going  all 
the  time,  first  to  have  more  water  put  into  it,  then  more  tea, 
then  more  water,  and  then  more  tea  again.  The  invalid  next 
concluded  to  try  a  cup  of  coffee,  to  counteract,  as  he  said,  any 
bad  effects  that  might  arise  from  the  tea;  and  he  ventured, 
also,  on  some  well-buttered  buckwheat  cake  and  honey.  He 
was  afterwards  emboldened  to  attempt  some  stewed  chicken 
and  milk  toast,  and  finally  finished  with  preserved  peaches  and 
cream. 

All  these  articles  were  carried  to  him  by  his  nephews,  jump 
ing  up  and  running  with  an  emprcsscment,  that  excited  the 
amazement  of  Mrs.  Brigham,  the  pity  of  Fanny,  the  smiles 
of  her  father,  and  the  indignation  of  Oliver. 

The  females  retired  with  the  supper  equipage ;  and  finding 
that  Colonel  Brigham  had  served  in  the  war  of  independence, 
Mr.  Culpepper  engaged  him  in  recounting  some  reminiscences 
of  those  eventful  times ;  for  the  veteran  had  seen  and  known 
much  that  was  well  worth  hearing. 

The  Mr.  Lambleys,  unaccustomed  to  feel  or  to  affect  an  in- 


THE   BED    BOX.  249 

terest  in  anything  that  was  not  said  or  done  by  their  uncle, 
looked  very  weary,  and  at  last  became  palpably  sleepy.  They 
all  sat  in  full  view,  and  within  reach  of  old  Culpcpper,  who, 
whenever  he  perceived  them  to  nod,  or  to  show  any  other 
indication  of  drowsiness,  poked  at  them  with  his  cane,  so  as 
effectually  to  rouse  them  for  a  time,  causing  them  to  start  for 
ward,  and  set  their  faces  to  a  smile,  stretching  up  their  eyes 
to  keep  them  wide  open. 

At  last  the  colonel,  who  was  much  amused  by  the  absurdity 
of  the  scene,  came  to  a  full  pause.  "  Go  on,"  said  Culpep- 
per,  "  never  mind  their  nodding.  I'll  see  that  they  do  not  go 
to  sleep." 

The  colonel,  out  of  compassion  to  the  young  men,  shortened 
his  story  as  much  as  possible,  and  finally,  on  Mrs.  Brigham 
sending  in  the  black  boy  with  bed-candles,  Mr.  Culpepper 
looked  at  his  watch,  and.  rose  from  his  chair.  The  nephews 
were  all  on  their  feet  in  a  moment.  One  tied  the  old  man's 
fur  tippet  round  his  neck,  to  prevent  his  taking  cold  in 
ascending  the  staircase,  another  put  on  his  hat  for  him,  and 
the  two  others  contended  for  the  happiness  of  carrying  his 
cloak.  "What  are  you  about?"  said  Mr.  Culpepper;  "do 
not  you  see  my  greatcoat  there  on  the  chair  ?  Take  that,  one 
of  you." 

He  bade  good  night,  and  the  procession  began  to  move, 
headed  by  Peter,  the  black  boy,  lighting  them  up  stairs. 

As  soon  as  they  were  entirely  out  of  hearing,  Colonel  Brig- 
ham,  who  had  with  difficulty  restrained  himself,  broke  out 
into  a  laugh,  but  Oliver  traversed  the  room  indignantly. 

"  I  have  no  patience,"  said  he,  "  with  such  fellows.  To 
think  that  full-grown  men — men  that  have  hands  to  work  and 
get  their  own  living,  should  humble  themselves  to  the  dust, 
and  submit  to  be  treated  as  lacqueys  by  an  old  uncle  (or, 
indeed,  by  anybody),  merely  because  he  happens  to  be  rich, 
and  they  expect  to  get  his  money  when  he  sees  proper  to  die, 
which  may  not  be  these  twenty  years,  for  it  is  plain  that 
nothing  ails  him.  '  I'd  rather  be  a  dog  and  bay  the  moon/ 
as  I  once  heard  an  actor  say  in  the  Philadelphia  playhouse. 
Now  I  talk  of  Philadelphia;  I  have  engaged  all  our  next 
barley  to  Wortley  &  Hopkins.  They  pay  better  than  Maltman 
&  Co.  But  these  Lambleys,  Sheepleys  rather — I  saw  them 
from  the  barn,  handing  the  old  fellow  out  of  the  stage.  I 
almost  expected  to  see  them  lift  his  feet  for  him;  I  was  glad 
he  scattered  them  all  as  soon  as  he  had  got  down  the  steps.  I 


250  THE   RED    BOX. 

dare  say  if  he  rides  on  horseback,  they  all  four  run  beside  him 
and  hold  him  on  his  horse.  Now  I  talk  of  horses,  I've  con 
cluded  to  keep  the  two  bay  colts,  and  raise  them  myself.  Tom 
Martingale  shall  not  have  them  for  the  price  he  offers.  To 
see  how  these  chaps  fetch  and  carry,  and  rise  up  and  sit  down, 
just  at  that  old  fellow's  beck.  It  would  be  harder  work  for 
me  than  following  the  plough  from  sunrise  to  sunset,  were  I 
obliged  to  do  so.  Now  I  talk  of  ploughing  ;  I  bought  another 
yoke  of  oxen  yesterday,  and  hired  a  Dutchman.  I  shall  put 
the  five-acre  field  in  corn.  That  old  villain  !  you  may  see  by 
his  eye  that  he  is  despising  them  all  the  time.  Why  should 
not  he  ?  ninnies  as  they  are.  I  wonder  where  they  all  came 
from  ?  I  do  not  believe  they  are  Americans." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Colonel  Brigham,  "  they  do  not  speak  like 
Englishmen,  and  I  am-  sure  they  are  neither  Scotch  nor 
Irish." 

"  I  hear  them  all  pacing  about  up  stairs  in  the  old  fellow's 
room,"  said  Oliver;  "think  of  four  men  putting  one  man 
to  bed,  or  of  any  one  man  allowing  four  to  do  it.  But 
'  their  souls  are  subdued  to  what  they  work  in/  as  I  heard 
another  play-actor  say.  By-the-bye,  the  old  rogue  has  forgot 
ten  his  red  box,  and  left  it  on  the  mantelpiece.  I  wonder  what 
is  in  it  ?" 

"  Maybe  it  is  full  of  gold  money,"  said  Mrs.  Brigham,  who 
had  just  entered  the  room  with  Fanny;  the  daughter  proceed 
ing  to  put  back  the  chairs,  while  the  mother  swept  up  the 
hearth. 

"  Bank  notes  rather,"  said  Oliver. 

"  Jewels,  I  think,"  said  Fanny. 

"  Deeds  of  property,  perhaps,"  said  the  colonel. 

"Well,  well,"  said  Mrs.  Brigham,  "'tis  time  for  all  good 
people  to  be  in  bed,  so  we'll  let  the  strangers  and  their  box 
rest  till  to-morrow." 

"I  think,"  observed  the  colonel,  "the  box  had  best  be  car 
ried  up  to  them.  Take  it,  Oliver." 

"  I  just  heard  the  young  men  leave  their  uncle's  room  to  go 
to  their  own,"  said  Sirs.  Brigham.  "May  be  it  won't  do  to 
disturb  him,  now  he's  in  bed." 

"  Then  let  it  be  taken  to  the  young  men,"  returned  the 
colonel.  "  Where  have  you  put  them  ?" 

"  I  told  Peter  to  show  them  all  to  the  four-bedded  room,  at 
the  other  end  of  the  house,"  answered  Mrs.  Brigham,  "as 
they  seemed  to  be  alike  in  everything.  I  supposed  they 


THE   RED   BOX.  251 

always  prefer  sleeping  in  the  same  place.     All  the  four  beds 
have  exactly  the  same  blue  and  white  coverlets." 

"  Well,"  said  Oliver,  "  Fll  take  them  the  box  as  I  pass  their 
room  on  the  way  to  my  own.  But  I  must  go  first  to  the 
stable,  and  see  how  Sorrel's  foot  is ;  I  cannot  be  satisfied  if  I 
do  not  look  at  it  once  more  to-night." 

The  other  members  of  the  family  now  retired  to  their  apart 
ments,  and  Oliver  took  a  lantern  and  went  to  the  stable,  to 
inspect  again  the  state  of  the  disabled  horse. 

When  the  four  Lambleys  waited  on  their  uncle  out  of  the 
parlour,  they  all  perceived  that  the  old  gentleman  had  for  the 
first  time  forgotten  to  take  the  red  morocco  box  with  him,  and 
they  all  exchanged  glances  to  this  effect,  being  used  to  each 
other's  signs.  After  they  had  gone  through  the  tedious  pro 
cess  of  seeing  him  to  bed,  and  carefully  folding  up  his  numer 
ous  garments,  they  held  a  consultation  in  their  own  room ; 
and,  accustomed  to  acting  in  concert,  they  concluded  that  as 
soon  as  the  house  was  quiet,  they  would  all  go  down  stairs 
together  and  bring  up  the  red  box.  Fortunately  for  them,  they 
knew  Mr.  Culpepper  to  be  a  sound  sleeper  (notwithstanding 
his  constant  assertions  to  the  contrary),  and  that  he  always 
went  to  sleep  as  soon  as  he  was  in  bed. 

When  they  came  into  the  parlour,  where  all  was  now  dark 
and  silent,  they  set  their  candle  on  the  table,  and  taking  down 
the  red  box,  one  of  them  said,  "At  last  we  have  an  opportu 
nity  of  satisfying  ourselves." 

"Tis  the  first  time,"  said  another,  "that  the  box  has  ever 
been  out  of  the  old  villain's  possession.  How  strange  that  he 
should  not  have  missed  it !  He  must  have  had  something  in 
his  head  more  than  usual  to-night." 

"  He  even  forgot  to  take  his  lozenges  before  he  went  to  bed/' 
said  the  third. 

"  James,"  said  the  fourth,  "$id  you  slip  the  little  key  out 
of  his  under  waistcoat  pocket,  as  I  signed  to  you  to  do  while 
you  were  folding  it  up  ?" 

"To  be  sure  I  did,"  replied  James,  "here  it  is,"  (dangling 
it  by  the  red  ribbon  that  was  tied  to  it).  "But  do  you  open 
the  box,  George,  for  I  am  afraid." 

"Give  me  the  key,  then,"  said  George,  "for  we  have  no 
time  to  lose." 

"What  a  lucky  chance  !"  said  Richard  Lambley. 

"  Now,"  said  William,  "  we  shall  learn  what  we  have  been 
longing  to  discover  for  the  last  five  years." 
21* 


252  THE   RED   BOX. 

They  key  was  turned,  and  the  box  opened.  A  folded  parch 
ment  lay  within  it,  tied  round  with  red  tape.  Each  of  the 
brothers  simultaneously  put  out  a  hand  to  grasp  it. 

"One  at  a  time,"  said  the  elder,  taking  it  out  and  opening 
it;  "just  as  we  suspected.  It  is  the  old  fellow's  will,  regularly 
drawn  up,  signed  and  witnessed." 

They  looked  over  each  other's  shoulders  in  intense  anxiety, 
while  the  eldest  of  the  brothers,  in  a  low  voice,  ran  over  the 
contents  of  the  parchment.  There  was  a  unanimous  excla 
mation  of  surprise  that  amounted  almost  to  horror,  when, 
after  the  usual  preamble,  they  came  to  some  explicit  words  by 
which  the  testator  devoted  the  whole  of  his  property  to  the 
endowment  of  a  hospital  for  idiots.  They  had  proceeded  thus 
far,  when  they  were  startled  by  the  entrance  of  Oliver,  who 
saw  in  a  moment  in  what  manner  they  were  all  engaged.  They 
hastily  folded  up  the  will,  and  replaced  it  in  the  box,  of 
which  they  directly  turned  the  key,  looking  very  much  discon 
certed. 

"  I  was  coming,"  said  Oliver,  setting  down  his  lantern,  "  to 
get  that  box  and  take  it  to  you,  that  you  might  keep  it  safe 
for  your  uncle  till  morning.  I  have  been  detained  at  the  stable 
longer  than  I  expected,  doing  something  for  a  lame  horse." 

There  was  a  whispering  among  the  Lambleys. 

"Very  well,"  said  one  of  them  to  Oliver,  "the  box  can 
stand  on  the  mantelpiece  till  morning,  and  then  when  my 
uncle  comes  down  he  can  get  it  for  himself.  He  must  not  be 
disturbed  with  it  to-night;  and  no  doubt  it  will  be  safe  enough 
here." 

The  truth  was,  they  were  all  justly  impressed  with  the  per 
suasion,  that  if  Mr.  Culpepper  knew  the  box  to  have  been  all 
night  in  their  room,  he  would  believe,  as  a  thing  of  course, 
that  they  had  opened  it  by  some  means,  and  examined  its  con 
tents.  Servility  and  integrity  rarely  go  together. 

They  whispered  again,  and  ^ach  advanced  towards  Oliver, 
holding  out  a  dollar. 

"  What  is  this  for  ?"  said  Oliver,  drawing  back. 

"  We  do  not  wish  you,"  said  one  of  the  Lambleys,  "  to 
mention  to  any  one  that  you  found  us  examining  this  box/7 

"  Why  should  I  mention  it  ?"  replied  Oliver;  "  do  you  sup 
pose  I  tell  everything  I  see  and  hear  ?  But  what  is  that  money 
for?" 

"  For  you,"  said  the  Lambleys. 

"What  am  I  to  do  for  it?" 


THE   RED   BOX.  253 

"  Keep  our  secret." 

Oliver  started  back,  coloured  to  his  temples,  contracted  his 
brows,  and  clenching  his  hands,  said,  "  I  think  I  could  beat 
you  all  four.  I  am  sure  of  it.  I  could  knock  every  one  of 
you  down,  and  keep  you  there,  one  after  another.  And  I 
will,  too,  if  you  don't  put  up  that  money  this  instant." 

The  Lambleys  quickly  returned  the  dollars  to  their  pockets, 
murmuring  an  apology ;  and  Oliver  paced  the  room  in  great 
agitation,  saying,  "  I'll  go  west.  I'll  go  to  the  backest  of 
the  back  woods  j  nobody  there  will  affront  me  with  money." 

The  Lambleys  hastily  replaced  the  red  box  on  the  mantel 
piece,  and  taking  an  opportunity  when  Oliver,  as  he  walked 
up  and  down,  was  at  the  far  end  of  the  room,  with  his  back 
to  them,  they  all  stole  past  him,  and  glided  up  stairs,  to  talk 
over  the  discovery  of  the  night. 

Having  no  longer  the  same  motive  for  submitting  to  the 
iron  rule  of  their  uncle,  they  were  eager  to  be  emancipated 
from  his  tyranny,  and  they  spent  several  hours  in  canvassing 
the  manner  in  which  this  was  to  be  effected.  They  had  not 
candour  enough  to  acknowledge  that  they  had  inspected  the 
will,  nor  courage  enough  to  break  out  into  open  rebellion , 
still,  knowing  what  they  now  did,  they  feared  that  it  would  be 
impossible  for  them  to  persevere  in  their  usual  assiduities  to 
Mr.  Culpepper,  for  whom  they  could  find  no  term  that  seemed 
sufficiently  opprobrious. 

Habit  is  second  nature.  The  morning  found  them,  as  usual, 
in  their  uncle's  room  to  assist  at  his  toilet,  with  all  their  accus 
tomed  submission.  The  one  that  had  purloined  the  key  of  the 
red  box,  took  care  to  contrive  an  opportunity  of  slipping  it 
unperceived  into  the  pocket,  as  he  unfolded  and  handed  Mr. 
Culpepper  his  under  waistcoat. 

After  he  was  shaved  and  dressed,  and  ready  to  go  down 
stairs,  the  old  gentleman  suddenly  missed  the  red  box,  and 
exclaimed,  "  Why,  where  is  my  box  ?  What  has  gone  with  it  ? 
Who  has  taken  it  ?" 

The  nephews  had  all  turned  their  faces  to  the  windows,  and 
were  steadfastly  engaged  in  observing  the  pigeons  that  were 
walking  about  the  roof  of  the  porch. 

"  Where's  my  red  box,  I  say  ?"  vociferated  the  old  man. 
"  Gro  and  see  if  I  left  it  down  stairs  last  night.  A  thing  im 
possible,  though.  No — stay — I'll  not  trust  one  of  you.  I'll 
go  down  myself." 

He  then  actually  ran  down  stairs,  and  on  entering  the  par- 


254  THE   RED   BOX. 

lour  where  the  breakfast  table  was  already  set,  and  the  family 
all  assembled,  he  espied  the  red  box  standing  quietly  on  the 
mantelpiece. 

"  Ah  !"  he  ejaculated,  "  there  it  is.  I  feared  I  had  lost  it." 
And  he  felt  in  his  waistcoat  pocket  to  ascertain  if  the  key  was 
safe. 

To  Mrs.  Brigham's  inquiry,  of  "how  he  had  rested,"  Mr. 
Culpepper  replied  in  a  melancholy  tone,  that  he  had  not  slept 
a  wink  the  whole  night.  On  her  asking  if  anything  had  dis 
turbed  him,  he  replied,  "  Nothing  whatever;  nothing  but  the 
usual  restlessness  of  ill  health."  And  he  seemed  almost 
offended,  when  she  suggested  the  possibility  of  being  asleep 
without  knowing  it. 

Though  he  assured  the  family,  when  he  sat  down,  that  he 
had  not  the  slightest  appetite,  the  bowl  of  sago  wliich  had 
been  prepared  by  his  orders  was  soon  pushed  aside,  and  his 
breakfast  became  the  counterpart  of  his  supper  the  night 
before. 

In  taking  their  seats,  the  Lambleys,  instead  of  their  cus 
tomary  amicable  contention,  as  to  which  of  them  should  sit 
next  their  uncle,  now,  in  the  awkwardness  of  their  embarrass 
ment,  all  got  to  the  other  side  of  the  table,  and  ranged 
themselves  opposite  to  him  in  a  row.  Mr.  Culpepper  looked 
surprised,  and  invited  Fanny  and  Oliver  to  place  themselves 
beside  him. 

The  four  young  men  were  very  irregular  and  inconsistent 
in  their  behaviour.  As  often  as  their  uncle  signified  any  of 
his  numerous  wants,  their  habitual  sycophancy  caused  them 
to  start  forward  to  wait  on  him ;  but  their  recent  disappoint 
ment  with  regard  to  the  disposal  of  his  wealth,  and  their  secret 
consciousness  of  the  illicit  means  they  had  made  use  of  to  dis 
cover  the  tenor  of  his  will,  rendered  them  unable  to  watch  his 
countenance,  and  anticipate  his  demands  by  keeping  their  eyes 
on  his  face  as  heretofore. 

Their  uncle  saw  that  they  were  all  in  a  strange  way,  and 
that  something  unusual  was  possessing  them,  and  frequently 
in  the  midst  of  his  talk  with  Colonel  Brigham,  he  stopped  to 
look  at  them  and  wonder.  Something  having  reminded  him 
of  a  certain  ridiculous  anecdote,  he  related  it  to  the  great 
amusement  of  the  Brighams,  who  heard  it  for  the  first  time. 
Mr.  Culpoppcr,  on  looking  over  at  his  nephews,  perceived  that 
instead  of  laughing  in  concert  (as  they  always  did  at  this  his 
favourite  joke),  they  all  appeared  distrait,  and  as  if  they  had 


THE   RED   BOX.  250 

not  paid  the  slightest  attention  to  it.  He  bent  forward  across 
the  table,  and  fixing  his  keen  eyes  upon  them,  said,  with  a 
scrutinizing  look,  and  in  an  under  tone;  "  you  have  been  read 
ing  my  will." 

The  poor  Lambleys  all  laid  down  their  knives  and  forks, 
turned  pale,  and  nearly  fell  back  in  their  chairs. 

"Don't  expose  yourselves  farther,"  whispered  Culpepper, 
leaning  across  to  them,  "I  know  you  all;"  and  then  turning 
to  Colonel  Brigham,  he  with  much  sang  froid  pursued  the 
conversation. 

Oliver  (who  alone  of  the  family  understood  what  was  pass 
ing)  began  to  feel  much  compassion  for  the  poor  young  men. 
The  scene  became  very  painful  to  him,  and  finding  that  his 
aversion  to  the  uncle  was  increasing  almost  beyond  conceal 
ment,  he  hastily  finished  his  coflee,  and  quitted  the  room. 

When  breakfast  was  over,  and  they  were  all  leaving  the 
table,  old  Culpepper  said  aside  to  his  nephews  :  "In  founding 
a  hospital  for  idiots,  I  still  give  you  an  opportunity  of  benefit 
ing  by  my  bounty." 

They  reddened,  and  were  about  to  quit  the  parlour,  when 
their  uncle,  taking  a  chair  himself,  said  to  them  :  "  Sit  down, 
all  of  you."  They  mechanically  obeyed,  looking  as  if  they 
were  about  to  receive  sentence  of  death.  Fanny  began  to  feel 
frightened,  and  glided  out  of  the  room ;  her  mother  having 
just  followed  the  departure  of  the  breakfast  things.  Colonel 
Brigham  rose  also  to  go,  when  Mr.  Culpepper  stopped  him, 
saying :  "  Remain,  my  good  friend.  Stay  and  hear  my  ex 
planation  of  some  things  that  must  have  excited  your 
curiosity." 

He  then  took  down  the  red  box.  The  nephews  looked  at 
each  other,  and  a  sort  of  whisper  ran  along  the  line,  which 
ended  in  their  all  jumping  up  together,  and  bolting  out  at  the 
door. 

Mr.  Culpepper  gazed  after  them  awhile,  and  then  turned 
towards  Colonel  Brigham,  with  a  sardonic  laugh  on  his  face. 
"  Well,  well,"  said  he,  "they  are  right.  It  is  refreshing  to 
see  them  for  once  acting  naturally.  It  was,  perhaps,  expect 
ing  too  much,  even  of  them,  to  suppose  they  would  sit  still 
arid  listen  to  all  I  was  likely  to  say,  for  they  know  me  well. 
Yet,  if  they  had  not  read  my  will,  they  would  not  have  dared 
to  quit  the  room  when  I  ordered  them  to  remain." 

He  then  proceeded  to  relate  that  he  was  a  native  of  Quebec, 
where,  in  early  life,  he  had  long  been  engaged  in  a  very  pro- 


256  THE   BED   BOX. 

fitable  commercial  business,  and  had  been  left  a  widower  at 
the  age  of  forty.  A  few  years  afterwards,  he  married  again. 
His  second  wife  was  a  lady  of  large  fortune,  which  she  made 
over  to  him,  on  condition  that  he  should  take  her  family  name 
of  Culpepper.  The  Mr.  Lambleys  were  the  nephews  of  his 
wife,  being  the  children  of  her  younger  sister.  On  the  death 
of  their  parents,  he  was  induced  l>y  her  to  give  them  a  home 
in  his  house. 

The  four  Lambleys  had  very  little  property  of  their  own, 
their  father  having  dissipated  nearly  all  that  he  had  acquired 
by  his  marriage.  They  had  been  educated  for  professions,  in 
which  it  was  soon  found  that  they  had  neither  the  ability  nor 
the  perseverance  to  succeed ;  their  whole  souls  seeming  con 
centrated  to  one  point,  that  of  gaining  the  favour  of  their 
uncle  (who  lost  his  second  wife  a  few  years  after  their  mar 
riage),  and  with  this  object  they  vied  with  each  other  in  a 
course  of  unremitting  and  untiring  servilities,  foolishly  sup 
posing  it  the  only  way  to  accomplish  their  aim  of  eventually 
becoming  his  heirs. 

All  that  they  gained  beyond  the  payment  of  their  current 
expenses,  was  Mr.  Culpepper' s  unqualified  contempt.  He 
made  a  secret  resolution  to  revenge  himself  on  their  duplicity, 
and  to  disappoint  their  mercenary  views  by  playing  them  a 
trick  at  the  last,  and  he  had  a  will  drawn  up,  in  which  he  de 
vised  his  whole  property  to  the  establishment  of  a  hospital. 
This  will  he  always  carried  about  with  him  in  the  red  morocco 
box. 

He  had  come  to  the  United  States  on  a  tour  for  the  benefit 
of  his  health,  and  also  to  satisfy  himself  as  to  the  truth  of  all 
he  had  heard  respecting  the  unparalleled  improvement  of  the 
country  since  it  had  thrown  off  the  yoke  which  his  fellow- 
subjects  of  Canada  were  still  satisfied  to  wear. 

"And  now/'  continued  Mr.  Culpepper  to  his  landlord, 
"  you  have  not  seen  all  that  is  in  the  red  box.  I  know  not 
by  what  presentiment  I  am  impelled  j  but,  short  as  our  ac 
quaintance  has  been,  I  cannot  resist  an  unaccountable  inclina 
tion  to  speak  more  openly  of  my  private  affairs  to  you,  Colonel 
Brigham,  than  to  any  person  I  have  ever  met  with.  I  feel 
persuaded  that  I  shall  find  no  cause  to  regret  having  done  so. 
It  is  a  long  time  since  I  have  had  any  one  near  me  to  whom 
I  could  talk  confidentially."  And  he  added,  with  a  sigh  : 
"  I  fear  that  I  may  say  with  Shakspeare's  Richard,  "  there  is 
no  creature  loves  me.'  " 


THE   RED   BOX.  257 

Mr.  Culpepper  then  opened  the  red  box,  and  took  out  from 
beneath  the  will  and  several  other  documents  that  lay  under 
it,  a  folded  paper,  which  he  held  in  his  hand  for  some  moments 
in  silence.  He  then  gave  it  to  Colonel  Brigham,  saying,  "Do 
you  open  it ;  I  cannot.  It  is  more  than  twenty  years  since  I 
have  seen  it." 

The  Colonel  unfolded  the  paper.  It  contained  a  small  minia 
ture  of  a  beautiful  young  lady,  in  a  rich  but  old-fashioned 
dress  of  blue  satin,  with  lace  cuffs  and  stomacher,  her  hair 
being  drest  very  high,  and  ornamented  with  a  string  of  pearls, 
arranged  in  festoons.  Colonel  Brigham  looked  at  the  minia 
ture,  and  exclaimed  in  a  voice  of  astonishment :  "  This  is  the 
likeness  of  Oliver's  mother  \" 

"  Oliver's  mother !"  ejaculated  Mr.  Culpepper,  in  equal 
amazement ;  "  Oliver — what,  the  young  man  that  lives  with 
you — that  you  call  your  adopted  son  ?  This  is  the  miniature 
of  my  daughter,  Elizabeth  Osborne." 

"Then,"  replied  the  Colonel,  "your  daughter  was  Oliver's 
mother." 

"Where  is  she?"  exclaimed  Culpepper,  wildly.  "Is  she 
alive,  after  all  ? — When  I  heard  of  her  death  I  believed  it. — 
Do  you  know  where  she  is  ?" 

"  She  is  dead,"  said  Colonel  Brigham,  passing  his  hand 
over  his  eyes. — "  I  saw  her  die ; — I  was  at  her  funeral. — I  can 
bring  you  proof  enough  that  this  is  the  likeness  of  Oliver's 
mother. — Shall  I  tell  my  wife  of  this  discovery  ?" 

"  You  may  tell  it  to  your  whole  family,"  answered  Mr.  Cul 
pepper,  throwing  himself  back  in  his  chair. — "You  are  all 
concerned  in  it. — Why,  indeed,  should  it  be  a  secret  ?" 

Colonel  Brigham  left  the  room,  and  shortly  after  returned, 
conducting  his  wife,  who  was  much  flurried,  and  carried  an 
enormously  large  pocket-book,  worked  in  queen-stitch  with 
coloured  crewels.  She  was  followed  by  Fanny,  looking  very 
pale,  and  bringing  with  her  some  sewing,  by  way  of  "  having 
something  in  her  hands."  They  found  Mr.  Culpepper  with 
his  face  covered,  and  evidently  in  great  agitation. 

"  See,"  said  Mrs.  Brigham,  sitting  down  before  him,  and 
untying  the  red  worsted  strings  of  the  pocket-book,  "  here's 
the  very  fellow  to  that  likeness."  She  then  took  out  an  exact 
copy  of  the  miniature.  There  were  also  some  letters  that  had 
passed  between  the  father  and  mother  of  Oliver,  previous  to 
their  marriage. 

"  I  keep  these  things  in  my  best  pocket-book,"  continued 


258  THE   RED  BOX. 

Mrs.  Brigham ;  "  liusband  gave  them  into  my  keeping,  and 
when  Oliver  is  twenty-one  (which  will  not  be  till  next  spring), 
they  are  all  to  go  to  him." 

Mr.  Culpepper  gazed  awhile  at  the  miniature,  and  then 
turned  over  the  letters  with  a  trembling  hand.  "  I  see,"  said  he, 
"  that  there  is  no  flaw  in  the  evidence.  This  is,  indeed,  a  copy 
of  my  daughter's  miniature.  These  letters  I  have  no  desire 
to  read,  for,  of  course,  they  refer  to  the  plot  that  was  in  train 
for  deceiving  me.  And  they  thought  they  had  well  succeeded. 
But  their  punishment  soon  came,  in  a  life  of  privation  and 
suffering,  and  in  an  early  death  to  both.  May  such  be  the 
end  of  all  stolen  marriages  ! — Still,  she  was  my  daughter ;  my 
only  child. — So  much  the  worse;  she  should  not  have  left  me 
for  a  stranger." 

It  was  painful  and  revolting  to  the  kind-hearted  Brighams 
to  witness  the  conflict  between  the  vindictive  spirit  of  this 
unamiable  old  man,  and  the  tardy  rekindling  of  his  parental 
feelings.  In  a  few  moments  he  made  an  effort  to  speak 
with  connexion  and  composure,  and  related  the  following  par 
ticulars.  After  the  unsuccessful  attack  on  Quebec,  by  the 
gallant  and  ill-fated  Montgomery,  a  young  American  officer, 
who  had  been  severely  wounded  in  the  conflict,  was  brought 
into  the  city,  and  received  the  most  kind  and  careful  attend 
ance  from  the  family  of  a  gentleman  who  had  once  been  inti 
mately  acquainted  with  his  father.  The  family  who  thus  ex 
tended  their  hospitality  to  a  suffering  enemy,  were  the  next- 
door  neighbours  of  Mr.  Culpepper,  whose  name  was  then 
Osborne.  Captain  Dalzel  was  a  handsome  and  accomplished 
young  man,  and  his  case  excited  much  interest  among  the 
ladies  of  Quebec,  and  in  none  more  than  in  Miss  Osborne,  who, 
from  her  intimacy  in  the  house  at  which  he  was  staying,  had 
frequent  opportunities  of  seeing  him  during  his  long  conva 
lescence.  A  mutual  attachment  was  the  consequence,  and  it 
was  kept  a  profound  secret  from  her  father,  who  had  in  view 
for  her  a  marriage  with  a  Canadian  gentleman  of  wealth  and 
consequence. 

When  Captain  Dalzel  was  about  to  return  home  on  being 
exchanged,  he  prevailed  on  Miss  Osborne  to  consent  to  a  secret 
marriage.  Mr.  Culpepper  acknowledged  that  on  discovering 
it  he  literally  turned  his  daughter  out  of  doors,  and  sent  back 
unopened  a  letter  which  she  wrote  to  him  from  Montreal. 
From  that  time  he  never  suffered  her  name  to  be  mentioned 
in  his  presence ;  and  he  was  almost  tempted  to  consign  to  the 


THE   RED   BOX.  259 

flames  a  miniature  of  her,  that  had  been  painted  for  him  by 
an  English  artist,  then  resident  in  Quebec.  But  a  revulsion  of 
feeling  so  far  prevailed,  as  to  prevent  him  from  thus  destroy 
ing  the  resemblance  of  his  only  child ;  and  he  put  away  the 
miniature  with  a  firm  resolution  never  to  look  at  it  again. 
Five  years  afterwards  he  heard  accidentally  of  Captain  Dafcel's 
having  fallen  in  battle,  and  that  Elizabeth  had  survived  him 
but  a  few  days. 

"  And  how  did  you  feel  when  you  heard  this  ?"  asked 
Colonel  Brigham. 

"  Feel,"  replied  Culpepper,  fiercely ;  "  I  felt  that  she  de 
served  her  fate,  for  having  deceived  her  father,  and  taken  a 
rebel  for  her  husband,  and  an  enemy's  country  for  her  dwell 
ing-place/' 

Fanny  shuddered  at  the  bitter  and  implacable  tone  in  which 
these  words  were  uttered,  and  the  Brighams  were  convinced 
that,  with  such  a  parent,  Miss  Osborne's  home  could  at  no  time 
have  been  a  happy  one. 

"  But,"  continued  old  Culpepper,  after  a  pause,  "  I  will  con 
fess,  that  since  I  have  been  in  your  country,  I  have  felt  some 
'  compunctious  visitings ;'  and  I  had  determined  not  to  leave 
the  States  without  making  some  inquiry  as  to  my  daughter 
having  left  children." 

"  She  had  only  Oliver,"  replied  Colonel  Brigham. 

"  The  boy's  features  have  no  resemblance  to  those  of  his 
mother,"  said  Culpepper ;  u  still  there  is  something  in  his  look 
that  at  once  prepossessed  me  in  his  favour.  But  tell  me  all 
that  you  know  about  his  parents?" 

The  colonel's  narrative  implied,  that  he  had  been  well  ac 
quainted  with  Captain  Dalzel,  who  was  of  the  Virginia  line, 
and  who  was  mortally  wounded  at  Yorktown,  where  he  died 
two  days  after  the  surrender  \  consigning  to  the  care  of 
Coloifel  Brigham  a  miniature  of  his  wife,  which  he  said  was 
procured  before  his  marriage  from  an  artist  whom  he  had  in 
duced  to  copy  privately  one  that  he  was  painting  for  the 
young  lady's  father. 

The  war  being  now  considered  as  ended  by  the  capture  of 
Cornwallis  and  his  army,  Colonel  Brigham  repaired  to  Phila 
delphia,  where  her  husband  had  informed  him  that  Mrs. 
Dalzel  was  living  in  retired  lodgings.  He  found  that  the 
melancholy  news  of  Captain  Dalzel' s  fate  had  already  reached 
her ;  and  it  had  caused  the  rupture  of  a  blood-vessel,  which 
was  hurrying  her  immediately  to  the  grave.  She  was  unable 
22 


260  THE   RED    BOX. 

to  speak,  but  she  pointed  to  her  child  (then  about  four  years 
old),  who  was  sobbing  at  her  pillow.  The  colonel,  deeply 
moved,  assured  her  that  he  would  carry  the  boy  home  with 
him  to  his  wife,  and  that  while  either  of  them  lived,  he  should 
never  want  a  parent.  A  gleam  of  joy  lighted  up  the  languid 
eyes7 of  Mrs.  Dalzel,  and  they  closed  to  open  in  this  world  no 

The  anguish  evinced  by  Mr.  Culpepper  at  this  part  of  the 
narrative,  waa  such  as  to  draw  tears  from  Mrs.  Brigham  and 
Fanny.  The  colonel  dwelt  no  further  on  the  death  of  Mrs. 
Dalzel,  but  concluded  his  story  in  as  few  words  as  possible, 
saying  that  he  carried  the  child  home  with  him;  that  his 
wife  "received  him  gladly ;  and  that  not  one  of  the  rela 
tions  of  Captain  Dalzel  (and  he  had  none  that  were  of 
near  affinity)  ever  came  forward  to  dispute  with  him  the 
charge  of  the  boy.  Captain  Dalzel,  he  knew,  had  possessed 
no  other  fortune  than  his  commission. 

When  Colonel  Brigham  had  finished  his  tale,— 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Culpepper,  making  a  strong  effort  to 
recover  his  composure,  "  perhaps  I  treated  my  daughter  _too 
severely,  in  continuing  to  cherish  so  deep  a  resentment  against 
her.  But  why  did  she  provoke  me  to  it  ?  However,  the  past 
can  never  be  recalled.  I  must  endeavour  to  make  her  son 
behave  better  to  me.  Where  is  Oliver?  Let  me  see  him 
immediately." 

He  had  scarcely  spoken  when  Oliver  entered  the  porch, 
accompanied  by  the  four  Lambleys,  whom  he  had  met  strolling 
about  lonely  and  uncomfortable,  and  he  kindly  offered  to  show 
them  round  the  farm,  not  knowing  what  better  he  could  do 
for  them.  They  had  just  completed  their  tour;  and  though 
it  was  a  beautiful  farm,  and  in  fine  order,  the  Lambleys  had 
walked  over  it  without  observing  anything,  being  all  the  time 
encmo-cd  in  inveighing  bitterly  to  Oliver  against  their  \incle. 
Oliver  regarded  them  as  so  many  Sinbads  ridden  by  the  Old 
Man  of  the  Sea,  and  advised  them  to  throw  him  off  forth- 

'""Come  in,  Oliver,"  said  Colonel  Brigham;  "you  are 
wanted  here."  .  . 

Oliver  entered  the  parlour,  and  the  Lambleys  remained  m 
the  porch  and  looked  in  at  the  windows,  curious  to  know 
what  was  going  on. 

"Come  in,  all  of  you/'  said  Mr.  Culpepper. 


THE   RED   BOX.  261 

They  mechanically  obeyed  his  summons,  and  entered  the 
parlour. 

Mr.  Culpepper  then  took  Oliver  by  the  hand,  and  said  to 
him  in  a  voice  tremulous  with  emotion,  "  Young  man,  in  me 
you  behold  your  grandfather." 

Oliver  changed  colour,  and  started  back,  and  Mr.  Culpepper 
was  deeply  chagrined  to  see  that  this  announcement  gave  him 
anything  but  pleasure.  The  story  was  briefly  explained  to 
him,  and  Mr.  Culpepper  added,  "  From  this  moment  you  may 
consider  yourself  as  belonging  to  me.  I  like  you — and  I  will 
leave  my  money  to  you  rather  than  to  found  a  hospital/' 

"  You  had  better  leave  it  to  these  poor  fellows,  that  have 
been  trying  for  it  so  long,"  said  Oliver,  bluntly. 

The  nephews  all  regarded  him  with  amazement. 

"  Hear  me,  Oliver,"  said  Mr.  Culpepper ;  "  It  is  not  merely 
because  you  are  my  grandson,  and  as  such  my  legal  heir — 
unless  I  choose  to  dispose  of  my  property  otherwise — but  I  took 
a  fancy  to  you  the  moment  I  saw  you,  when  I  could  not  know 
that  you  were  of  my  own  blood.  As  to  those  fellows,  I  have 
had  enough  of  them,  and  no  doubt  they  have  had  enough 
of  me.  I  have  towed  them  about  with  me  already  too  long. 
It  is  time  I  should  cut  the  rope,  and  turn  them  adrift.  No 
doubt  they  will  do  better  when  left  to  shift  for  themselves." 

The  Lambleys  exhibited  visible  signs  of  consternation. 

"Oliver,"  continued  Mr.  Culpepper,  "prepare  to  accom 
pany  me  to  Canada.  There  you  shall  live  with  me  as  my  ac 
knowledged  heir,  taking  the  name  of  Culpepper,  and  no  longer 
feeling  yourself  a  destitute  orphan." 

"  I  never  have  felt  myself  a  destitute  orphan,"  said  Oliver, 
looking  gratefully  at  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Brigham,  both  of  whom 
looked  as  if  they  could  clasp  him  in  their  arms. 

"I  promise  you  every  reasonable  enjoyment  that  wealth 
can  bestow,"  pursued  Mr.  Culpepper. 

"  I  have  all  sorts  of  reasonable  enjoyments  already,"  answered 
Oliver.  "A  fine  farm  to  take  care  of;  a  capital  gun;  four 
excellent  dogs;  and  such  horses  as  are  not  to  be  found  within 
fifty  miles ;  fine  fishing  in  the  Susquehanna ;  plenty  of  news 
papers  to  read,  and  some  books  too ;  frolics  to  go  to,  all  through 
the  neighbourhood;  and  now  and  then  a  visit  to  the  city,  where 
I  take  care  to  see  all  the  shows." 

"Nonsense,"  said  Mr.  Culpepper;  "what  is  all  this  com 
pared  to  an  introduction  to  the  best  society  of  Quebec  ?" 


262  THE   RED    BOX. 

"  And  what  better  than  all  this  is  done  by  the  best  society 
of  Quebec  ?"  inquired  Oliver. 

Mr.  Culpepper  did  not  answer  this  question ;  but  continued  : 
"  There  is  another  consideration  of  still  more  consequence  : 
As  my  grandson  and  heir,  I  can  insure  you  an  opportunity 
of  marrying  a  lady  of  family  and  fortune." 

"  I  would  rather  marry  Fanny/'  said  Oliver. 

At  this  spontaneous  and  unequivocal  announcement,  Colonel 
and  Mrs.  Brigham  each  caught  one  of  Oliver's  hands,  unable 
to  conceal  their  joy.  A  flush  passed  over  Fanny's  face,  and 
she  half  rose  up,  and  then  sat  down  again.  At  last  she  said, 
with  sparkling  eyes,  and  a  curl  of  her  lip,  "  How  do  you  know 
that  Fanny  will  have  you  T}  And  she  pursued  her  work  with 
such  eagerness,  that  she  forgot  to  replenish  her  needle,  and 
went  on  sewing  without  a  thread. 

There  was  a  silence  a  few  moments,  and  then  Mr.  Culpep 
per  proceeded:  "In  short,  Oliver,  you  must  go  with  me  to 
Canada,  and  settle  there  for  life." 

"  First  listen  to  me/'  said  Oliver,  "  for  I  am  going  to  make  a 
speech,  and  I  intend  to  abide  by  it. — As  to  your  being  my 
grandfather,  that  is  a  thing  I  cannot  help.  You  must  not 
expect  me  to  be  taken  with  a  sudden  affection  for  you,  and  to 
feel  dutiful  all  at  once,  when  I  never  saw  you  in  my  life  till 
yesterday.  Maybe  it  might  come  after  awhile ;  but  that  is 
quite  a  matter  of  doubt,  as  I  fear  we  should  never  suit  each 
other  at  all.  Neither  will  I  ever  consent  to  go  and  live  in 
Canada,  and  be  under  the  rule  of  a  king.  My  father  died  in 
trying  to  get  free  from  one.  I  like  my  own  country,  and  I 
like  the  way  of  living  I  am  used  to;  and  I  like  the  good 
friends  that  have  brought  me  up.  And  if  Fanny  won't  have 
me,  I  dare  say  I  can  find  somebody  that  will." 

The  Brighams  looked  reproachfully  at  their  daughter,  who 
held  down  her  head  and  gave  her  sewing  such  a  flirt,  that  it 
fell  from  her  hand  on  the  floor.,  and  the  Lambleys  picked  it 
up. 

"  Another  thing,"  proceeded  Oliver  to  Mr.  Culpepper,  "  this 
is  your  will,  is  it  not  ?"  (putting  his  hand  on  it  as  it  lay  beside 
the  red  box).  "Now  tell  me  if  there  are  any  legacies  in  it?" 

"  Not  one /'  replied  Mr.  Culpepper,  "  the  whole  is  left  to 
endow  a  hospital  for  idiots.  I  knew  nobody  that  deserved  a 
legacy." 

" So  much  the  worse/'  said  Oliver,  "it  looks  as  if  you  had 
no  friends.  You  had  better  make  another  will." 


THE   RED   BOX,  263 

f(  I  intend  to  do  so,"  replied  Culpepper. 

"  Then/'  said  Oliver,  "  this  is  of  no  use ;  and  the  sooner 
there  is  an  end  of  it  the  better/' — -and  he  threw  it  into  the 
fire,  where  it  was  instantly  consumed. 

The  Lamblcys  were  so  frightened  at  this  outrageous  act 
(for  so  it  appeared  to  them),  that  they  all  tried  to  get  out  of 
the  room.  Mrs.  Brigham  spread  her  hands  with  a  sort  of 
scream ;  her  husband  could  not  help  laughing ;  Fanny  again 
dropped  her  work,  and  nobody  picked  it  up.  Mr.  Culpepper 
frowned  awfully;  but  he  was  the  first  to  speak,  and  said, 
"  Young  man,  how  have  you  dared  to  do  this  ?" 

"I  can  dare  twice  as  much/'  replied  Oliver; — "I  have 
shot  a  bear  face  to  face.  One  hard  winter  there  were  several 
found  in  the  woods  not  ten  miles  off.  Suppose,  Mr.  Culpepper, 
you  were  to  die  suddenly  (as  you  possibly  may  in  a  fit  or 
something),  before  you  get  your  new  will  made !  This  would 
then  be  considered  the  right  one,  and  your  money  after  all 
would  go  to  that  idiot  hospital." 

"  You  are  the  most  original  youth  I  have  ever  met  with," 
said  Culpepper ;  "  I  know  not  how  it  is ;  but  the  more  you  op 
pose  me,  the  better  I  like  you." 

The  nephews  looked  astonished. 

" Still,"  observed  Oliver,  "it  would  never  do  for  us  to  live 
together.  For  myself,  I  neither  like  opposing  nor  submitting; 
never  having  been  used  to  either." 

"  It  is  not  possible,"  said  Culpepper,  "  that  you  mean  seriously 
to  refuse  my  offer  of  protection  and  fortune  ?" 

"  As  to  protection,"  replied  Oliver;  " I  can  protect  myself. 
And  as  to  fortune,  I  dare  say  I  can  make  one  for  myself. 
And  as  to  that  other  thing,  the  wife,  I  shall  try  to  get  one  of 
my  own  sort — Fanny,  or  somebody  else.  And  as  to  the  name 
of  Culpepper,  I'll  never  take  it." 

"  And  will  you  really  not  go  with  me  to  Canada  ?" 

"  No  !  positively  I  will  not.  I  believe,  though,  I  ought  to 
thank  you  for  your  offers,  which  I  now  do.  No  doubt  they 
were  well  meant.  But  here  I  intend  to  stay,  with  the  excel 
lent  people  that  took  me  when  nobody  else  would,  and  that 
have  brought  me  up  as  their  own  child.  I  know  how  sorry 
they  would  be  were  I  to  leave  them,  and  yet  they  have  had 
the  forbearance  not  to  say  one  word  to  persuade  me  to  stay. 
So  it  is  my  firm  determination  to  live  and  die  with  them." 

He  then  shook  hands  with  each  of  the  old  Brighams,  who 
were  deeply  affected,  and  threw  their  arms  round  him.    Fanny. 
22* 


264  THE  RED  BOX, 

completely  overcome,  entirely  off  her  guard,  flew  to  Oliver,  hid 
her  face  on  his  shoulder,  and  burst  into  tears.  He  kissed  her 
cheek,  saying,  "  Now,  Fanny,  I  hope  we  understand  each 
other ;" — and  Colonel  Brigham  put  his  daughter's  hand  into 
Oliver's. 

"So  then,"  said  Mr.  Culpepper,  "I  have  found  a  grandson 
but  to  lose  him.  Well,  I  deserve  it." 

The  nephews  looked  as  if  they  thought  so  too. 

"What  shall  I  do  now  ?"  continued  the  old  man  dolorously. 

"  Take  your  nephews  into  favour  again,"  said  Oliver. 

"  They  never  were  in  favour,"  replied  the  uncle. 

"At  all  events  treat  them  like  men." 

"  It  is  their  own  fault.    Why  do  they  not  behave  as  such  ?" 

The  old  gentleman  walked  about  in  much  perturbation.  At 
last  he  said  to  the  Lambleys,  "Young  men,  as  you  took  a  most 
nefarious  method  of  discovering  my  intentions  towards  you, 
and  as  I  never  had  a  doubt  respecting  the  real  motive  of  all 
your  obsequiousness  to  me,  there  is  no  use  in  attempting  any 
farther  disguise  on  either  side.  When  masks  are  only  of 
gauze,  it  is  not  worth  while  to  wear  them.  Try  then  if  you 
can  be  natural  for  a  little  while,  till  I  see  what  can  be  done 
with  you.  You  will  find  it  best  in  the  end.  And  now,  I 
think,  we  will  go  away  as  soon  as  possible.  The  longer  I 
stay  here,  the  more  difficult  I  shall  find  it  to  leave  Oliver." 

To  be  brief. — Mr.  Culpepper  and  his  nephews  departed  in 
about  an  hour,  in  a  vehicle  belonging  to  the  General  Wayne, 
and  which  was  to  carry  them  to  the  nearest  village  from 
whence  they  could  proceed  to  New  York. 

At  parting,  Mr.  Culpepper  held  out  his  hand  and  said, 
"Oliver,  for  once  call  me  grandfather." 

Oliver  pressed  his  hand,  and  said,  "Grandfather,  we  part 
friends."  The  old  gentleman  held  his  handkerchief  to  his 
eyes,  as  he  turned  from  the  door,  and  his  nephews  looked 
nohow. 

In  about  a  month,  Oliver  received  a  parcel  from  Mr.  Cul 
pepper,  containing  the  little  red  morocco  box,  in  which  was  a 
letter  and  some  papers.  The  letter  was  dated  from  New  York. 
The  old  gentleman  informed  his  grandson,  that  he  had  been 
so  fortunate  as  to  engage  the  affections  and  obtain  the  hand  of 
a  very  beautiful  young  lady  of  that  city  (the  youngest  of  eight 
sisters,  and  just  entering  her  seventeenth  year),  who  had  con 
vinced  him,  that  she  married  only  from  the  sincerest  love. 
Finding  no  farther  occasion  for  his  nephews,  he  had  established 


THE  RED   BOX.  265 

them  all  in  business  in  New  York,  where  no  doubt  they  would 
do  better  than  in  Canada.  He  sent  Oliver  certificates  for 
bank  stock  to  a  considerable  amount,  and  requested  him, 
whenever  he  wanted  more  money  for  the  enlargement  or  im 
provement  of  the  farm,  to  apply  to  him  without  scruple. 

This  letter  arrived  on  the  day  of  Oliver's  marriage  with 
Fanny ;  on  which  day  the  sign  of  the  General  Wayne  was  taken 
down,  and  the  tavern  became  once  more  a  farm-house  only ; 
Mrs.  Brigham  having  been  much  troubled  by  the  interrup 
tions  she  sustained  from  customers,  during  her  immense  pre 
parations  for  the  wedding,  and  determining  that  on  the  great 
occasion  itself,  she  would  not  be  "put  out"  by  the  arrival  of 
any  guest,  except  those  that  were  invited. 

Colonel  Brigham,  never  having  approved  of  the  sign,  was 
not  sorry  to  see  it  removed ;  and  Mrs.  Brigham,  thinking  it  a 
pity  to  have  it  wasted,  made  it  do  duty  in  the  largest  bed 
chamber  as  a  chimney-board. 

In  a  few  years  the  Colonel  found  sufficient  employment  for 
most  of  his  time  in  playing  with  Fanny's  children,  and  such 
was  his  "green  old  age,"  that  when  upwards  of  seventy,  he 
was  still  able  to  take  the  superintendence  of  the  farm,  while 
Oliver  was  absent  at  the  seat  of  the  state  government,  making 
energetic  speeches  in  the  capacity  of  an  assembly-man. 


THE    OFFICERS: 

A  STORY  OF  THE  LAST  WAR  WITH  ENGLAND. 

"All  furnished,  all  in  arms, 


All  plumed  like  cstridges." — SHAKSPEARE. 

SOPHIA  CLEMENTS  had  just  arrived  in  Philadelphia  on  a 
•visit  to  her  sister,  Mrs.  Darnel,  the  widow  of  a  merchant  who 
had  left  his  family  in  very  affluent  circumstances.  The  child 
ren  were  a  son  now  settled  in  business  at  Canton,  two  very 
pretty  daughters  who  had  recently  quitted  school,  and  a  boy 
just  entering  his  twelfth  year. 

Miss  Clements,  who  (being  the  child  of  a  second  marriage) 
was  twenty  years  younger  than  Mrs.  Darnel,  had  resided  since 
the  death  of  her  parents  with  an  unmarried  brother  in  New 
York,  where  her  beauty  and  her  mental  accomplishments  had 
gained  her  many  admirers,  none  of  whom,  however,  had  been 
able  to  make  any  impression  on  her  heart. 

Sophia  Clements  was  but  few  years  older  than  her  gay  and 
giddy  nieces,  who  kindly  offered  to  pass  her  off  as  their  cousin, 
declaring  that  she  was  quite  too  young  to  be  called  aunt.  But 
secure  in  the  consciousness  of  real  youth,  she  preferred  being 
addressed  by  the  title  that  properly  belonged  t^  her. 

This  visit  of  Sophia  Clements  was  in  the  last  year  of  the 
second  contest  between  England  and  America ;  and  she  found 
the  heads  of  her  two  nieces  filled  chiefly  with  'the  war,  and 
particularly  with  the  officers.  They  had  an  infinity  to  tell  her 
of  <(  the  stirring  times"  that  had  prevailed  in  Philadelphia, 
and  were  still  prevailing.  And  she  found  it  difficult  to  con 
vince  them  that  there  was  quite  as  much  drumming  and  fifing 

(266) 


THE   OFFICERS.  267 

tn  New  York,  and  rather  more  danger ;  as  that  city,  from  its 
vicinity  to  the  ocean,  was  much  easier  of  access  to  the  enemy. 

The  boy  Robert  was,  of  course,  not  behind  his  sisters  in 
enthusiasm  for  the  "  pride,  pomp,  and  circumstance  of  glori 
ous  war,"  and  they  were  indebted  to  him  for  much  soldier-news 
that  they  would  not  otherwise  have  had  the  felicity  of  know 
ing — his  time;  between  school  hours,  being  chiefly  spent  in 
collecting  it. 

On  the  morning  after  Miss  Clements's  arrival,  she  and  her 
nieces  were  sitting  at  their  muslin  work, — an  occupation  at 
that  time  very  customary  with  the  ladies,  as  no  foreign  arfl- 
cles  of  cotton  embroidery  were  then  to  be  purchased.  There 
was  much  military  talk,  and  frequent  running  to  the  window 
by  the  two  girls,  to  look  out  at  a  passing  recruiting  party  with 
their  drum,  and  fife,  and  colours,  and  to  admire  the  gallant 
bearing  of  the  sergeant  that  walked  in  front  with  his  drawn 
sword  j  for  recruiting  sergeants  always  have 

"  A  swashing  and  a  martial  outside." 

"  Certainly/'  said  Harriet  Darnel,  "  it  is  right  and  proper 
to  wish  for  peace ;  but  still,  to  say  the  truth,  war-time  is  a 
very  amusing  time.  Everything  will  seem  so  flat  when  it  is 
over." 

"  I  fear,  indeed,"  replied  Miss  Clements,  smiling,  "  that 
you  will  find  some  difficulty  in  returning  to  the  '  dull  pursuits 
of  civil  life.' " 

"  Aunt  Sophy,"  said  Caroline,  "  I  wish  you  had  been  here 
in  the  summer,  when  we  were  all  digging  at  the  fortifications 
that  were  thrown  up  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  city,  to 
defend  it  in  case  of  an  attack  by  land.  Each  citizen  gave  a 
day's  work,  and  worked  with  his  own  hands.  They  went  in 
bodies,  according  to  their  trades  and  professions,  inarching  out 
at  early  dawn  with  their  digging  implements.  They  were 
always  preceded  by  a  band  of  music,  playing  Hail  Columbia  or 
Washington's  March,  and  they  returned  at  dusk  in  the  same 
manner.  We  regularly  took  care  to  sec  them  whenever  they 
passed  by." 

"The  first  morning,"  said  Harriet,  "they  came  along  so 
very  early  that  none  of  us  were  up  till  the  sound  of  the  music 
wakened  us;  and  being  in  our  night-clothes,  we  could  only 
peep  at  them  through  the  half-closed  shutters ;  but  afterwards, 
we  took  care  to  be  always  up  and  dressed  in  time,  so  that  we 
could  throw  open  the  windows  and  lean  out,  and  gaze  after 


268  THE   OFFICERS. 

them  till  they  were  out  of  sight.  You  cannot  think  how 
affecting  it  was.  Our  eyes  were  often  filled  with  tears  as  we 
looked  at  them — even  though  they  were  not  soldiers,  but 
merely  our  own  people,  and  had  no  uniform/' 

"All  instances  of  patriotism,  or  of  self-devotion  for  the 
general  good,  are  undoubtedly  affecting,"  observed  Sophia. 

"  Every  trade  went  in  its  turn,"  pursued  Harriet,  "  and 
every  man  of  every  trade,  masters  and  journeymen — none 
stayed  behind.  One  day  we  saw  the  butchers  go,  another  day 
the  bakers ;  also  the  carpenters  and  bricklayers,  then  the  shoe 
makers  and  the  tailors,  the  curriers  and  the  saddlers,  and 
the  blacksmiths.  Often  two  or  three  trades  went  together. 
There  were  the  type-founders,  and  the  printers,  and  the  book 
binders.  The  merchants  also  assisted,  and  the  lawyers,  and 
the  clergymen  of  every  denomination.  Most  of  the  Irishmen 
went  twice — first,  according  to  their  respective  trades,  and 
again  as  Irishmen  only,  when  they  marched  out  playing  *  St. 
Patrick's  Day  in  the  Morning/  The  negroes  had  their  day, 
also ;  and  we  heard  them  laughing  and  talking  long  before  we 
saw  them.  Only  imagine  the  giggling  and  chattering  of 
several  hundred  negroes  I" 

"  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Linley  took  us  out  in  their  carriage  to  see 
the  fortifications/'  resumed  Caroline.  "  It  was  the  lawyers' 
day ;  and  there  were  some  of  the  principal  gentlemen  of  the 
city,  in  straw  hats  and  round  jackets,  and  some  in  their  waist 
coats  only,  with  their  shirt-sleeves  rolled  up,  digging  with 
pickaxes  and  spades,  and  wheeling  barrows  full  of  sods.  It 
was  delightful  to  look  at  them." 

"  There's  a  drum  and  fife  again !"  exclaimed  Harriet. 
"  See,  see,  Aunt  Sophy,  do  look  out;  here's  another  recruiting 
party — and  they  have  picked  up  four  men,  who  have  actually 
joined  them  in  the  street.  How  glad  I  am  !" 

"  Do  come  and  look,  aunt,"  said  Caroline ;  "  it  is  not  the 
same  party  that  passed  a  little  while  ago.  I  know  it  by  the 
sergeant,  who  has  darker  hair  and  eyes  than  the  other.  This 
is  Lieutenant  Bunting's  recruiting  party.  He  has  handbills 
on  all  the  corners,  headed  :  '  List,  list — oh,  list !' '' 

"  Aunt  Sophy,"  said  Harriet,  as  they  resumed  their  seats, 
"you  cannot  imagine  what  a  lively  summer  we  have  had !" 

"  I  can  easily  imagine,"  replied  Sophia,  "  that  you  almost 
lived  out  of  the  window." 

"  How  could  we  do  otherwise/'  answered  Harriet,  "  when. 


THE   OFFICERS.  269 

there  was  so  much  to  look  at,  particularly  during  the  alarm  ? 
Alarms  are  certainly  very  exciting." 

"Undoubtedly/'  observed  Sophia;  "but  what  was  the 
alarm  ?" 

"  Oh  !  there  has  been  one  long  alarm  all  summer;  and  it  is 
still  going  on,  or  our  volunteers  would  not  stay  so  long  at 
Camp  Dupont.  But  there,  it'  seems,  they  may  have  to  remain 
till  winter  drives  the  British  away  from  the  Capes." 

"I  conclude/7  said  Miss  Clements,  "  the  alarm  par  excellence 
was  when  the  enemy  sailed  up  the  Chesapeake  to  attack  Balti 
more,  and  there  was  an  apprehension  of  their  crossing  over  to 
Philadelphia." 

"  The  very  time/'  answered  Harriet.  "  We  had  a  troop  of 
horse  reconnoitering  on  the  Chesapeake.  Their  camp  was  at 
Mount  Bull,  near  Elkton.  They  were  all  gentlemen,  and  they 
acted  in  turn  as  videttes.  One  of  them  arrived  here  every 
evening  with  despatches  for  General  Bloomfield  concerning  the 
movements  of  the  enemy — and  they  still  come.  .You  know 
last  evening,  soon  after  your  arrival,  one  of  the  times  that  I 
ran  to  the  window  was  to  see  the  vidette*  galloping  along  the 
street,  looking  so  superbly  in  his  light-horseman's  uniform, 
with  his  pistols  in  his  holsters,  and  his  horse's  feet  striking  fire 
from  the  stones." 

"  Once,"  said  Caroline,  "  we  heard  a  galloping  in  the  middle 
of  the  night,  and  therefore  we  all  got  up  and  looked  out.  In 
a  few  minutes  the  streets  were  full  of  men  who  had  risen  and 
dressed  themselves,  and  gone  out  to  get  the  news.  I  was 
sorry  that,  being  women,  we  could  not  do  the  same.  But  we 
sent  Bob — you  don't  know  how  useful  we  find  Bob.  He  is 
versed  in  all  sorts  of  soldiers  and  officers,  and  every  kind  of 
uniform,  and  the  right  way  of  wearing  it.  He  taught  us  to 
distinguish  a  captain  from  a  lieutenant,  and  an  infantry  from 
an  artillery  officer, — silver  for  infantry,  and  gold  for  artillery, 
— and  then  there  is  the  staff  uniform  besides,  and  the  dra 
goons,  and  the  rifle  officers,  and  the  engineers.  Of  course,  I 
mean  the  regular  army.  As  to  volunteers  and  militia,  we 
knew  them  long  ago." 

"  But  you  arc  forgetting  the  vidette  that  galloped  through 
the  street  at  midnight,"  said  Sophia. 

"  True,  aunt ;  but  when  one  has  so  much  to  tell,  it  is  diffi 
cult  to  avoid  digressions.  Well,  then — this  vidette  brought 

*  Estafettc.,  we  believe,  is  the  proper  term,  but  the  military  couriers 
of  that  period  were  always  called  videttes  by  the  citizens. 


270  THE   OFFICERS. 

news  of  the  attack  on  Baltimore ;  and,  by  daylight,  there  was 
as  much  confusion  and  bustle  in  the  town,  as  if  we  had  ex 
pected  the  enemy  before  breakfast." 

"  We  saw  all  the  volunteers  march  off/'  said  Harriet,  taking 
up  the  narrative.  "  They  started  immediately  to  intercept  the 
British  on  their  way  to  Philadelphia, — for  we  were  sure  they 
would  make  an  attempt  to  come.  We  had  seen  from  our 
windows,  these  volunteers  drilling  for  weeks  before,  in  the 
State  House  Yard.  It  is  delightful  to  have  a  house  in  such  a 
situation.  My  favourite  company  was  the  Washington  Guards, 
but  Caroline  preferred  the  State  Fencibles.  I  liked  the  close 
round  jackets  of  the  Guards,  and  their  black  belts,  and  their 
tall  black  feathers  tipped  with  red.  There  was  something 
novel  and  out  of  the  common  way  in  their  uniform." 

"  No  matter,"  said  Caroline,  "  the  dress  of  the  State  Fenci 
bles  was  far  more  manly  and  becoming.  They  wore  coatees, 
and  white  belts,  and  little  white  pompons  tipped  with  red ; 
pompons  stand  the  wind  and  weather  much  better  than  tall 
feathers.  And  then  the  State  Fencibles  were  all  such  genteel, 
respectable  men." 

"So  were  the  Washington  Guards,"  retorted  Harriet,  "and 
younger  besides." 

"  No,  no,"  replied  Caroline,  "  it  was  their  short,  boyish- 
looking  jackets  that  gave  them  that  appearance." 

"  Well,  well,"  resumed  Harriet,  "  I  must  say  that  all  the 
volunteer  companies  looked  their  very  best  the  day  they 
marched  off  in  full  expectation  of  a  battle.  I  liked  them 
every  one.  Even  the  blankets  that  were  folded  under  their 
knapsacks  were  becoming  to  them.  We  saw  some  of  the  most 
fashionable  gentlemen  of  the  city  shoulder  their  muskets  and 
go  off  as  guards  to  the  baggage-wagons,  laughing  as  if  they 
considered  it  an  excellent  joke." 

"To  think,"  said  Caroline,  "of  the  hardships  they  have  to 
suffer  in  camp !  After  the  worst  of  the  alarm  had  subsided, 
many  of  the  volunteers  obtained  leave  of  absence  for  a  day  or 
two,  and  came  up  to  the  city  to  visit  their  families,  and  attend 
a  little  to  business.  We  always  knew  them  in  a  moment  by 
their  sunburnt  faces.  They  told  all  about  it,  and  certainly 
their  sufferings  have  been  dreadful,  for  gentlemen.  Standing 
guard  at  night,  and  in  all  weather, — sleeping  in  tents,  without 
any  bedsteads,  and  with  no  seats  but  their  trunks, — cooking 
their  own  dinners,  and  washing  their  own  dishes, — and,  above 
all,  having  to  eat  their  own  awful  cooking !" 


THE   OFFICERS.  271 

"But  you  forget  the  country  volunteers,"  said  Harriet, 
"  that  came  pouring  in  from  all  parts  of  Pennsylvania.  We 
saw  them  every  one  as  they  passed  through  the  city  on  their 
way  down  to  Camp  Dupont.  And  really  we  liked  them  also. 
Most  of  the  country  companies  wore  rifle-dresses  of  coloured 
cotton,  trimmed  with  fringe ;  for  instance,  some  had  blue  with 
red  fringe,  others  green  with  yellow  fringe ;  some  brown  with 
blue  fringe.  One  company  was  dressed  entirely  in  yellow, 
spotted  with  black.  They  looked  like  great  two-legged  leo 
pards.  We  were  very  desirous  of  discovering  who  an  old 
gray-haired  man  was  that  rode  at  the  head.  He  was  a  fine- 
looking  old  fellow,  and  his  dress  and  his  horse  were  of  the 
same  entire  gray.  I  shall  never  forget  that  man." 

"  I  shall  never  forget  anything  connected  with  the  alarm," 
resumed  Caroline.  "  There  was  a  notice  published  in  all  the 
papers,  and  stuck  up  at  every  corner,  telling  what  was  to  be 
done  in  case  the  enemy  were  actually  approaching  the  city. 
Three  guns  were  to  be  fired  from  the  Navy  Yard  as  a  signal 
for  the  inhabitants  to  prepare  for  immediate  danger.  You 
can't  think  how  anxiously  we  listened  for  those  three  guns." 

"  I  can  readily  believe  it,"  said  Miss  Clements. 

"  We  knew  some  families,"  continued  Caroline,  "  that,  in 
anticipation  of  the  worst,  went  and  engaged  lodgings  in  out- 
of-the-way  places,  thirty  or  forty  miles  from  town,  that  they 
might  have  retreats  secured ;  and  they  packed  up  their  plate 
and  other  valuable  articles,  for  removal  at  a  short  notice.  We 
begged  of  mamma  to  let  us  stay  through  everything,  as  we 
might  never  have  another  opportunity  of  being  in  a  town  that 
was  taken  by  the  enemy  ]  and  as  no  gentleman  belonging  to 
us  was  in  any  way  engaged  in  the  war,  we  thought  the  British 
would  not  molest  us.  To  say  the  truth,  mamma  took  the 
whole  alarm  very  coolly,  and  always  said  she  had  no  apprehen 
sions  for  Philadelphia." 

"  Maria  Milden  was  at  Washington,"  observed  Harriet, 
"when  the  British  burnt  the  President's  House  and  the  Capi 
tol,  and  she  told  us  all  about  it,  for  die  was  so  fortunate  as  to 
see  the  whole.  Nobody  seems  to  think  they  will  burn  the 
State  House,  if  they  come  to  Philadelphia.  But  I  do — don't 
you,  aunt  Sophia  ?  What  a  grand  sight  it  would  be,  and  how 
fast  the  State-House  bell  would  ring  for  its  own  fire  !" 

"  We  can  only  hope  that  they  will  always  be  prevented 
from  reaching  the  city  at  all,"  replied  Miss  Clements. 


272  THE   OFFICERS. 

"But  don't  I  hear  a  trumpet?"  exclaimed  Caroline;  and  the 
girls  were  again  at  the  window. 

"  Oh !  that  is  the  troop  of  United  States  dragoons  that 
Bob  admires  so  much,"  cried  Harriet.  "  They  have  recruited 
a  hundred  men  here  in  the  city.  I  suppose  they  are  on  their 
way  to  the  lines.  Look,  look,  aunt  Sophy, — now,  you  must 
acknowledge  this  to  be  a  fine  sight." 

"  It  is,"  said  Sophia. 

"  Only  see,"  continued  Harriet,  "  how  the  long  tresses  of 
white  horse-hair  on  their  helmets  are  waving  in  the  wind;  and 
see  how  gallantly  they  hold  their  sabres;  and  look  at  the 
captain  as  he  rides  at  their  head, — only  see  his  moustaches. 
I  hope  that  captain  will  not  be  killed." 

"  But  I  shall  be  sorry  if  he  is  not  wounded,"  said  Caroline. 
"  Wounded  officers  are  always  so  much  admired.  You  know, 
Harriet,  we  saw  one  last  winter  with  his  arm  in  a  sling,  and  a 
black  patch  on  his  forehead.  How  sweetly  he  looked  !" 

"Nay,"  said  Harriet,  "I  cannot  assent  to  that;  for  he 
was  one  of  the  ugliest  men  I  ever  saw,  both  face  and  figure, 
and  all  the  wounding  in  the  world  would  not  have  made  him 
handsome." 

"  Well,  interesting  then," — persisted  Caroline ; — "you  must 
own  that  he  looked  interesting,  and  that's  everything." 

"  May  I  ask,"  said  Miss  Clements,  "  if  you  are  acquainted 
with  any  officers  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  replied  Harriet,  "  we  meet  with  them  some 
times  at  houses  where  we  visit.  How  very  unlucky  it  is  that 
brother  Francis  happens  to  be  living  in  Canton,  just  at  this 
time  of  all  others !  If  he  were  with  us,  we  could  go  more  into 
company,  and  his  friends  would  visit  at  our  house — and  of 
course  he  would  know  a  great  many  officers.  But  mamma  is 
so  very  particular,  and  so  very  apprehensive  about  us,  and  she 
cannot  herself  be  persuaded  to  go  to  any  public  places.  I  wish 
Bob  were  grown  up." 

"  We  were  very  desirous,"  said  Caroline,  "  of  being  among 
the  young  ladies  who  joined  in  presenting  a  standard,  last 
October,  to  a  regiment  of  infantry  that  was  raised  chiefly  in  the 
city,  but  mamma  would  not  permit  us.  However,  we  saw  the 
ceremony  from  a  window.  The  young  ladies  who  gave  the 
standard  were  all  dressed  alike  in  white  muslin  frocks  and 
long  white  kid  gloves,  with  their  hair  plain  and  without  orna 
ment — they  looked  sweetly.  The  regiment  had  marched  into 
town  for  the  purpose, — for  they  were  encamped  near  Darby. 


THE   OFFICERS.  273 

The  young  ladies  with  the  flag  stood  on  the  steps  of  a  house 
in  Chestnut  street,  and  the  officers  were  ranged  in  front.  She 
that  held  the  standard  delivered  a  short  address  on  the  occa 
sion,  and  the  ensign  who  received  it  knelt  on  one  knee,  and 
replied  very  handsomely  to  her  speech.  Then  the  drums 
rolled,  and  the  band  struck  up,  and  the  colours  waved,  and 
the  officers  all  saluted  the  ladies." 

"  In  what  way  ?"  asked  Sophia, 

"  Oh,  with  their  swords.  A  military  salute  is  superb — 
Bob  showed  us  all  the  motions.  Look  now,  aunt  Sophia,  I'll 
do  it  with  the  fly-brush.  That's  exactly  the  way." 

"  I  have  always  considered  a  military  salute  extremely 
graceful,"  said  Miss  Clements. 

"  But  we  have  still  more  to  tell  about  this  regiment,"  con 
tinued  Caroline.  "  You  must  know  we  spent  a  most  delight 
ful  day  in  their  camp — actually  in  their  camp  !" 

"  And  how  did  you  happen  to  arrive  at  that  pitch  of  feli 
city  ?"  asked  Sophia. 

"Oh!"  replied  Caroline,  "we  are,  most  fortunately  for  us, 
acquainted  with  the  family  of  an  officer  belonging  to  this  dis 
trict,  and  they  invited  us  to  join  them  on  a  visit  to  the  camp. 
Our  friends  had  made  arrangements  for  having  a  sort  of  pic 
nic  dinner  there,  and  baskets  of  cold  provisions  were  accord 
ingly  conveyed  in  the  carriages.  The  weather  was  charming, 
for  it  was  the  Indian  summer,  and  everything  conspired  to  be 
so  delightful.  First  we  saw  a  review :  how  elegantly  the  officers 
looked  galloping  along  the  line, — and  then  the  manoeuvres  of 
the  soldiers  were  superb, — they  seemed  to  move  by  magic. 
When  the  review  was  over,  the  officers  were  all  invited  to 
share  our  dinner.  As  they  always  went  to  Darby  (which  was 
close  by)  for  their  meals,  they  had  no  conveniences  for  dining 
in  camp ;  and  the  contrivances  that  were  resorted  to  for  the 
accommodation  of  our  party  caused  us  much  amusement.  The 
flies  of  two  or  three  tents  were  put  together  so  as  to  make  a 
sort  of  pavilion  for  us.  Some  boards  were  brought,  and  laid 
upon  barrels,  so  as  to  form  a  table ;  and  for  table-cloths  we 
had  sheets  supplied  by  the  colonel.  We  sat  on  benches  of 
rough  boards,  similar  to  those  that  formed  the  table.  Plates, 
and  knives  and  forks,  were  borrowed  for  us  of  the  soldiers. 
We  happened  to  have  no  salt  with  us, — some,  therefore,  was 
procured  from  the  men's  pork-barrels,  and  we  made  paper  salt 
cellars  to  put  it  in.  But  the  effect  of  our  table  was  superb, 
all  the  gentlemen  being  in  full  uniform — such  a  range  of 


274  THE   OFFICERS. 

epaulets  and  sashes  !  Their  swords  and  chapeaux,  which  they 
had  thrown  under  a  tree,  formed  such  a  picturesque  heap ! 
The  music  was  playing  for  us  all  the  time,  and  we  were  waited 
upon  by  orderlies — think  of  having  your  plate  taken  by  a 
soldier  in  unform  !  Wine-glasses  being  scarce  among  us,  when 
a  gentleman  invited  a  lady  to  take  wine  with  him,  she  drank 
first,  and  gave  him  her  glass,  and  he  drank  out  of  it — and  so 
many  pretty  things  were  said  on  the  occasion.  After  dinner 
the  colonel  took  us  to  his  tent,  which  was  distinguished  from 
the  others  by  being  larger,  and  having  a  flag  flying  in  front, 
and  what  they  called  a  picket  fence  round  it.  Then  we  were 
conducted  all  through  the  camp,  each  lady  leaning  on  the  arm 
of  an  officer  :  we  almost  thought  ourselves  in  Paradise.  For 
weeks  we  could  scarcely  bear  to  speak  to  a  citizen — Mr.  Wil 
son  and  Mr.  Thomson  seemed  quite  sickening." 

"What  nonsense  you  are  talking!"  said  Mrs.  Darnel,  who, 
unperceived  by  her  daughters,  had  entered  the  room  but  a  few 
moments  before,  and  seated  herself  on  the  sofa  with  her  sewing. 
"When  you  are  old  enough  to  think  of  marrying  (the  two 
girls  smiled  and  exchanged  glances),  you  may  consider  your 
selves  very  fortunate  if  any  such  respectable  young  men  as  the 
two  you  have  mentioned  so  disdainfully,  should  deem  you 
worthy  of  their  choice." 

"  I  have  no  fancy  for  respectable  young  men,"  said  Harriet, 
in  a  low  voice. 

"I  hope  you  will  live  to  change  your  opinion,"  pursued  Mrs. 
Darnel.  "I  cannot  be  all  the  time  checking  and  reproving; 
but  my  consolation  is  that  when  the  war  is  over,  you  will  both 
come  to  your  senses, — and  while  it  lasts  the  officers  have, 
fortunately,  something  else  to  think  of  than  courtship  and 
marriage ;  and  are  seldom  long  enough  in  one  place  to  under 
take  anything  more  than  a  mere  flirtation." 

"For  my  part,"  said  Miss  Clements,  "nothing  could  induce 
me  to  marry  an  officer.  Even  in  time  of  peace  to  have  no 
settled  home  ;  and  to  be  transferred  continually  from  place  to 
place,  not  knowing  at  what  moment  the  order  for  removal  may 
arrive ;  and  certainly  in  time  of  war  my  anxiety  for  my  hus 
band's  safety  would  be  so  great  as  entirely  to  destroy  my  hap 
piness." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Darnel,  "I  wish,  for  a  thousand  reasons, 
that  this  war  was  over.  Setting  aside  all  more  important  con 
siderations,  the  inconvenience  it  causes  in  our  domestic  con 
cerns  is  too  incessant  to  be  trifling.  We  are  not  yet  prepared 


275 

to  live  comfortably  without  the  aid  of  foreign  importations. 
The  price  of  everything  has  risen  enormously." 

"That  is  very  true,  mamma/'  observed  Harriet;  "only 
think  of  having  to  give  two  dollars  a  yard  for  slight  Florence 
silk ;  such  silk  as  before  the  war  u-e  would  not  have  worn  at 
all — but  now  we  are  glad  to  get  anything,*— and  two  dollars 
a  pair  for  cotton  stockings  ;  cambric  muslin  a  dollar  and  a  half 
a  yard — a  dollar  for  a  paper  of  pins — twenty-five  cents  for  a 
cotton  ball  !" 

"And  groceries!"  resumed  Mrs.  Darnel;  " sugar  a  dollar 
a  pound—lemons  half  a  dollar  a  piece  !" 

"  I  must  say,"  said  Caroline,  "  I  am  very  tired  of  cream  of 
tartar  lemonade.  I  find  it  wherever  I  go." 

"  Well,  all  this  is  bad  enough,"  said  Harriet ;  "  but  some 
how  it  does  not  make  us  the  least  unhappy,  and  certainly  we 
are  anything  but  dull." 

"  And  then  it  is  so  pleasant,"  remarked  Caroline,  "  every 
now  and  then  to  hear  the  bells  ringing,  and  to  find  that  it  is 
for  a  victory ;  and  it  is  so  glorious  to  be  taking  ship  after  ship 
from  the  British.  Bob  says  he  envied  the  New  Yorkers  the 
day  the  frigate  United  States  brought  in  the  Macedonian." 

"  I  own,"  said  Miss  Clements,  "  that  the  excitement  of  that 
day,  can  never  be  forgotten  by  those  that  felt  it.  It  had  been 
ascertained  the  evening  before  that  these  ships  were  off  Sandy 
Hook,  but  in  the  morning  there  was  a  heavy  fog  which,  it  was 
feared,  would  prevent  their  coining  up  to  the  city.  Never 
theless,  thousands  of  people  were  assembled  at  daylight  on  the 
Battery.  At  last  a  sunbeam  shone  out,  the  fog  cleared  off 
with  almost  unprecedented  rapidity,  and  there  lay  the  two 
frigates  at  anchor,  side  by  side — the  Macedonian  with  the 
American  colours  flying  above  the  British  ensign.  So  loud 
were  the  acclamations  of  the  spectators,  that  they  were  heard 
half  over  the  city,  and  they  ceased  not,  till  both  vessels  com 
menced  firing  a  salute." 

The  conversation  was  finally  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of 
some  female  visiters,  who  joined  Mrs.  Darnel  in  lamenting  the 
inconveniences  of  the  times.  One  fearing  that  if  the  present 
state  of  things  continued,  she  would  soon  be  obliged  to  dress 
her  children  in  domestic  gingham,  and  the  other  producing 
from  her  reticule  a  pattern  for  a  white  linen  glove,  which  she 
had  just  borrowed  with  a  view  of  making  some  for  herself;  kid 
gloves  being  now  so  scarce  that  they  were  rarely  to  be  had  at 
any  price. 
23* 


276  THE   OFFICERS. 

A  few  evenings  afterwards,  our  young  ladies  were  invited 
to  join  a  party  to  a  ball;  where  Mr.  Wilson  and  Mr.  Thomson 
were  treated  with  considerable  indifference  by  the  Miss  Dar 
nels;  but  being  very  persevering  young  men,  they  consoled 
themselves  with  the  hope  that  le  bon  terns  viendra.  About  the 
middle  of  the  evening,  the  girls  espied  at  a  distance,  among 
the  crowd  of  gentlemen  near  the  door,  the  glitter  of  a  pair  of 
silver  epaulets. 

"  There's  a  field-officer,  Aunt  Sophia,"  said  Harriet :  «  he 
wears  two  epaulets,  and  is  therefore  either  a  major  or  a  colonel. 
So  I  am  determined  to  dance  with  him." 

"  If  you  can,"  added  Caroline. 

"  How  will  you  accomplish  this  enterprise  ?"  asked  Sophia. 

"  Oh  !"  replied  Harriet,  "  I  saw  him  talking  to  Mr.  Wilson, 
who,  I  suppose,  has  got  acquainted  with  him  somehow.  So 
I'll  first  dance  with  poor  Wilson,  just  to  put  him  into  a  good 
humour,  and  I'll  make  him  introduce  this  field-officer  to  me." 

All  this  was  accomplished.  She  did  dance  with  Mr.  Wil 
son — he  was  put  into  a  good  humour ;  and  when,  half-laugh 
ing,  half-blushing,  she  requested  that  he  would  contrive  for 
her  an  introduction  to  the  field-officer,  he  smiled,  and,  some 
what  to  her  surprise,  said  at  once,  "  Your  wish  shall  be  gra 
tified,"  adding,  "  he  fought  bravely  at  Tippecanoe,  and  was 
rewarded  with  a  commission  in  the  regular  service." 

Mr.  Wilson  then  left  her,  and  in  a  few  minutes  returned 
with  the  gentleman  in  question,  whom  he  introduced  as  Major 
Steifenbiegen.  The  major  was  of  German  extraction  (as  his 
name  denoted),  and  came  originally  from  one  of  the  back 
counties  of  Pennsylvania. 

When  Harriet  Darnel  had  a  near  view  of  him,  she  found 
that  the  field-officer,  though  a  tall,  stout  man,  was  not  distin 
guished  by  any  elegance  of  figure,  and  that  his  features, 
though  by  no  means  ugly,  were  heavy  and  inexpressive,  and 
his  movements  very  much  like  those  of  a  wooden  image  set 
in  motion  by  springs.  However,  he  was  in  full  uniform,  and 
had  two  epaulets,  and  wore  the  U.  S.  button. 

On  being  introduced  by  young  Wilson  to  Harriet  and  her 
companions,  the  major  bowed  almost  to  the  floor,  as  he  gravely 
requested  the  honour  of  Miss  Darnel's  hand  for  the  next  set, — 
which  he  told  her  he  was  happy  to  say  was  a  country-dance. 
On  her  assenting,  he  expressed  his  gratitude  in  slow  and  mea 
sured  terms,  and  in  a  manner  that  showed  he  had  been  study 
ing  his  speech  during  his  progress  across  the  ball-room. 


THE  OFFICERS.  277 

"  Madam/'  said  he,  "  will  you  have  the  goodness  to  accept 
my  most  obliged  thanks  for  the  two  honours  you  are  doing 
me;  first,  in  desiring  the  acquaintance  of  so  unworthy  an 
object,  and  secondly,  madam,  in  agreeing  to  dance  with  me  ? 
I  have  never  been  so  much  favoured  by  so  fine  a  young 
lady." 

Harriet  looked  reproachfully  at  Mr.  Wilson  for  having 
betrayed  to  Major  Steifenbiegen  her  wish  for  the  introduc 
tion  ;  but  Wilson  afterwards  took  an  opportunity  of  making 
her  understand  that  she  had  nothing  to  fear ;  the  field-officer 
being  entirely  guiltless  of  the  sin  of  vanity — as  far,  at  least, 
as  regarded  the  ladies. 

In  a  few  minutes  a  fair-haired,  slovenly,  but  rather  a  hand 
some  young  man,  in  a  citizen's  old  brown  surtout,  with  an 
epaulet  on  his  left  shoulder,  came  up  to  Major  Steifenbiegen, 
and  slapping  him  on  the  back,  said,  "  Well,  here  I  am,  just 
from  Washington.  I've  got  a  commission, — you  see,  I've 
mounted  my  epaulet, — and  the  tailor  is  making  my  uniform. 
Who's  that  pretty  girl  you're  going  to  dance  with  ?"  he  added, 
in  a  loud  whisper. 

"  Miss  Darnel,"  replied  the  major,  drawing  him  aside,  and 
speaking  in  a  tone  quite  different  from  that  in  which  he  thought 
proper  to  address  the  ladies. 

"  Is  that  her  sister  beside  her — the  one  that's  dressed 
exactly  the  same  ?" 

"  I  presume  so." 

"  You  know  it  is — she's  the  prettiest  of  the  two.  So  intro 
duce  me,  and  I  declarr  I'll  take  her  out." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  dance  in  that  long  surtout," 
observed  the  major. 

"Just  as  well  as  you  can  in  those  long  jack-boots." 

"  But  I'm  in  full  uniform,"  said  the  major,  "and  your  dress 
is  neither  one  thing  nor  t'other." 

"  No  matter  for  that,"  replied  the  youth,  "  I'm  old  Vir 
ginia,  and  am  above  earring  about  my  dress.  Haven't  I  my 
epaulet  on  my  shoulder,  to  let  everybody  know  I'm  an  officer  ? 
— and  that's  enough.  Show  me  the  girl  that  wouldn't  be  will 
ing,  any  minute,  to  '  pack  up  her  tatters  and  follow  the  drum.' " 

Major  Steifenbiegen  then  introduced  to  the  ladies  Lieutenant 
Tinsley,  who  requested  Miss  Caroline  Darnel's  hand  for  the 
next  dance.  Caroline,  consoling  herself  with  the  idea  that  her 
officer,  though  in  an  old  brown  surtout  and  dingy  Jefferson 
shoes,  was  younger  and  handsomer  than  Harriet's  major,  allow- 


278  THE  OFFICERS. 

cd  him,  as  he  expressed  it,  to  carry  her  to  the  dance, — which 
he  did  by  tucking  her  hand  under  his  arm,  and  walking  very 
fast ;  informing  her,  at  the  same  time,  that  he  was  old  Vir 
ginia. 

Major  Steifenbiegen  respectfully  took  the  tips  of  Harriet's 
fingers,  saying,  "Madam,  I  am  highly  obligated  to  you  for 
allowing  me  the  privilege  of  leading  you  by  the  hand  to  the 
dance  :  I  consider  it  a  third  honour." 

"  Then  you  are  three  by  honours,"  said  Tinsley. 

Miss  Clements,  who  was  too  much  fatigued  by  six  sets  of 
cotillions  to  undertake  the  "  never-ending,  still-beginning 
country-dance,"  remained  in  her  seat,  talking  to  her  last  part 
ner,  and  regarding  at  a  distance  the  proceedings  of  her  two 
nieces  and  their  military  beaux. 

It  is  well  known  that  during  the  war  of  1812,  commissions 
were  sometimes  bestowed  upon  citizens  who  proved  excellent 
soldiers,  but  whose  opportunities  of  acquiring  the  polish  of 
gentlemen  had  been  rather  circumscribed.  There  were  really 
a  few  such  officers  as  Major  Steifenbiegen  and  Lieutenant 
Tinsley. 

The  Miss  Darnels  and  their  partners  took  their  places  near 
the  top  of  the  country-dance.  While  it  was  forming,  each  of 
the  gentlemen  endeavoured  to  entertain  his  lady  according  to 
his  own  way — the  major  by  slowly  hammering  out  a  series  of 
dull  and  awkward  compliments,  and  the  lieutenant  by  a  pro 
fusion  of  idle  talk  that  Caroline  laughed  at  without  knowing 
why ;  seasoned  as  it  was  with  local  words  and  phrases,  and 
with  boastings  about  that  section  of  the  Union  which  had  the 
honour  of  being  his  birth-place. 

"  Madam,"  said  the  major,  "  I  think  it  is  the  duty  of  an 
officer — the  bounden  duty — to  make  himself  agreeable,  that  is, 
to  be  perpetually  polite,  and  so  forth.  I  mean  we  are  to  be 
always  agreeable  to  the  ladies,  because  the  ladies  are  always 
agreeable  to  us.  Perhaps,  madam,  I  don't  speak  loud  enough. 
Madam,  don't  you  think  it  is  the  duty  of  an  officer  to  be  polite 
and  agreeable  to  the  ladies  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  answered  Harriet,  "  of  an  officer  and  of  all 
gentlemen." 

"Very  true,  madam,"  persisted  the  major,  "your  senti 
ments  are  quite  correct.  All  gentlemen  should  be  polite  to 
the  fair  sex,  but  officers  particularly.  Not  that  I  would  pre 
sume  to  hint  that  they  ought  to  be  so  out  of  gratitude,  or  that 
ladies  are  apt  to  like  officers — I  have  not  that  vanity,  madam 


THE   OFFICERS.  279 

• — we  are  not  a  vain  people — that  is,  we  officers.  But  perhaps, 
madam,  my  conversation  does  not  amuse  you/' 

"  Oh  !  yes  it  does,"  replied  Harriet,  archly. 

"  Well,  madam,  if  it  doesn't,  just  mention  it  to  me,  and  I'll 
willingly  stop, — the  honour  of  dancing  with  so  fine  a  young 
lady  is  sufficient  happiness/' 

"Well,  Miss/'  said  young  Tinsley  to  Caroline,  "you  have 
but  a  stran^ige  sort  of  dancing  here  to  the  north.  I  can't 
make  out  much  with  your  cotillions.  Before  one  has  time  to 
learn  the  figure  by  heart  they're  over;  and  as  to  your  sashay 
and  balanjay,  I  don't  know  which  is  which :  I'm  not  good  at 
any  of  your  French  capers — I'm  old  Virginia.  Give  me  one 
of  our  own  up-country  reels — 'Fire  in  the  mountains/  or 
'  Possum  up  the  gum  tree/ — I  could  show  you  the  figure  in  a 
minute,  with  ourselves  and  two  chears." 

The  dance  had  now  commenced;  and  Major  Steifenbiegen 
showed  some  signs  of  trepidation,  saying  to  Miss  Darnel, 
"  Madam,  will  you  allow  me,  if  I  may  be  so  bold,  to  tax  your 
goodness  farther  by  depending  entirely  on  your  kind  instruc 
tions  as  to  the  manoeuvres  of  the  dance.  I  cannot  say,  ma 
dam,  that  I  ever  was  a  dancing  character — some  people  are 
not.  It's  a  study  that  I  have  but  lately  taken  up.  But  with 
so  fine  a  young  lady  for  a  teacher,  I  hope  to  acquit  myself 
properly.  I  have  been  informed  that  Rome  was  not  built  in 
a  day.  Please,  madam,  to  tell  me  what  I  am  to  do  first." 

"  Observe  the  gentleman  above  you,"  replied  Harriet,  "  and 
you  will  see  in  a  moment." 

The  major  did  observe,  but  could  not  "  catch  the  idea." 
The  music  was  Fisher's  Hornpipe,  at  that  time  very  popular 
as  a  country-dance,  and  Major  Steifenbiegen  was  at  length 
made  to  understand  that  he  was  first  to  go  down  by  himself, 
outside  of  the  line  of  gentlemen,  and  without  his  partner, 
who  was  to  go  down  on  the  inside.  He  set  off  on  his  lonely 
expedition  with  rather  a  triste  countenance.  To  give  himself 
a  wide  field,  he  struck  out  so  far  into  the  vacant  part  of  the 
room,  that  a  stranger,  entering  at  the  moment,  would  have 
supposed  that,  for  some  misdemeanor,  he  had  been  expelled 
from  the  dance,  and  was  performing  a  solitary  pas  seul  by  way 
of  penance.  His  face  brightened,  however,  when  a  gentle 
man,  observing  that  he  took  no  "note  of  time,"  kindly  re 
called  him  to  his  place  in  the  vicinity  of  Miss  Darnel.  But 
his  perplexities  were  now  increased.  In  crossing  hands,  he 
went  every  way  but  the  right  one,  and  the  confusion  he  caused, 


280  THE   OFFICERS. 

and  his  formal  apologies,  were  as  annoying  to  bis  partner, — 
who  tried  in  vain  to  rectify  his  mistakes, — as  they  were  di 
verting  to  the  other  ladies.  He  ducked  his  head,  and  raised 
his  shoulders  every  time  he  made  a  dive  at  their  hands,  lifting 
his  feet  high,  like  the  Irishman  that  "  rose  upon  sugan,  and 
sunk  upon  gad." 

Harriet  could  almost  have  cried  with  vexation ;  but  the 
worst  was  still  to  come,  and  she  prepared  for  the  crowning 
misery  of  going  down  the  middle  with  Major  Steifenbiegen. 
He  no  longer  touched  merely  the  ends  of  her  ringers,  but  he 
grasped  both  her  hands  hard,  as  if  to  secure  her  protection, 
and  holding  them  high  above  her  head,  he  blundered  down  the 
dance,  running  against  one  person,  stumbling  over  another, 
and  looking  like  a  frightened  fool,  while  his  uniform  made  him 
doubly  conspicuous.  The  smiles  of  the  company  were  irre 
pressible,  and  those  at  a  distance  laughed  outright. 

When  they  came  to  the  bottom,  Harriet,  who  was  com 
pletely  out  of  patience,  declared  herself  fatigued,  and  insisted 
on  sitting  down  ]  and  the  major,  saying  that  it  was  his  duty 
to  comply  with  every  request  of  so  fine  a  young  lady,  led  her 
to  Miss  Clements,  who,  though  pained  at  her  niece's  evident 
mortification,  had  been  an  amused  spectator  of  the  dance. 
The  major  then  took  his  station  beside  Harriet,  fanning  her 
awkwardly,  and  desiring  permission  to  entertain  her  till  the 
next  set.  She  hinted  that  it  would  probably  be  more  agree 
able  to  him  to  join  some  of  his  friends  on  the  other  side  of  the 
room  j  but  he  told  her  that  he  could  not  be  so  ungrateful  for 
the  numerous  honours  she  had  done  him,  as  to  prefer  any  so 
ciety  to  hers. 

In  the  mean  time,  Caroline  Darnel  had  fared  but  little  bet 
ter  with  Lieutenant  Tinsley ;  and  she  was  glad  to  recollect, 
for  the  honour  of  the  army,  that  he  was  only  an  officer  of 
yesterday,  and  also  to  hope  (as  was  the  truth)  that  he  was  by 
no  means  a  fair  sample  of  the  sons  of  Virginia.  He  danced 
badly  and  ridiculously,  though  certainly  not  from  embarrass 
ment,  romped  and  scampered,  and  was  entirely  regardless  of 
les  bicnstances. 

When  they  had  got  to  the  bottom  of  the  set,  and  had  paused 
to  take  breath,  the  lieutenant  began  to  describe  to  Caroline  an 
opossum  hunt — then  told  her  how  inferior  was  the  rabbit  of 
Pennsylvania  to  the  "old  yar"*  of  Virginia;  and  descanted 
on  the  excellence  of  their  corn-bread,  bacon,  and  barbecued 

*  Hare. 


THE   OFFICERS.  281 

chickens.  He  acknowledged,  however,  that  <{  where  he  was 
raised,  the  whole  neighbourhood  counted  on  having  the  ague 
every  spring  and  fall." 

"  Then  why  do  they  stay  there  ?"  inquired  Caroline.  "  I 
wonder  that  any  people,  who  are  able  to  leave  it;  should  per 
sist  in  living  in  such  a  place." 

"  Oh  !  you  don't  know  us  at  all/'  replied  Tinsley.  "  We 
are  so  used  to  the  ague,  that  when  it  quits  us,  we  feel  as  if 
we  were  parting  with  an  old  friend.  As  for  me,  I  fit  against 
it  for  a  while,  and  then  gave  up ;  finding  that  all  the  remedies, 
except  mint-juleps,  were  worse  than  the  disease.  I  used  to 
sit  upon  the  stars  and  shake,  wrapped  in  my  big  overcoat, 
with  my  hat  on,  and  the  capes  drawn  over  my  head — I'm  old 
Virginia." 

Like  her  sister,  Caroline  now  expressed  a  desire  to  quit  the 
dance  and  sit  down,  to  which  her  partner  assented ;  and,  after 
conveying  her  to  her  party,  and  telling  her:  "There,  now, 
you  can  say  you  have  danced  with  an  officer,"  he  wheeled  off, 
adding  :  "  I'll  go  and  get  a  cigyar^  and  take  a  stroll  round 
the  squarr  with  it.  There's  so  much  noise  here  that  I  can't 
do  my  think." 

The  major  looked  astonished  at  Tinsley's  immediate  aban 
donment  of  a  lady  so  young  and  so  pretty,  and,  by  way  of 
contrast,  was  more  obsequious  than  ever  to  Harriet,  reiterating 
the  request  which  he  had  made  her  as  they  quitted  the  dance, 
to  honour  him  with  her  hand  for  the  next  set ;  telling  her  that 
now,  having  had  some  practice,  he  hoped,  with  her  instruc 
tions,  to  acquit  himself  better  than  in  the  last.  Harriet 
parried  his  importunities  as  adroitly  as  she  could;  determined 
to  avoid  any  farther  exhibition  with  him,  and  yet  unwilling 
to  sit  still,  according  to  the  usual  ball-room  penalty  for  refus 
ing  the  invitation  of  a  proffered  partner. 

Both  the  girls  had  been  thoroughly  ashamed  of  their  epau- 
letted  beaux,  and  had  often,  during  the  dance,  looked  with 
wistful  eyes  towards  Messrs.  Wilson  and  Thomson,  who  were 
very  genteel  young  men,  and  very  good  dancers,  and  whose 
partners — two  beautiful  girls — seemed  very  happy  with  them. 

The  major,  seeing  that  other  gentlemen  were  doing  so, 
now  departed  in  quest  of  lemonade  for  the  ladies ;  and,  taking 
advantage  of  his  absence,  Harriet  exclaimed :  "  Oh,  Aunt 
Sophy,  Aunt  Sophy  !  tell  me  what  to  do — I  cannot  dance  again 
with  that  intolerable  man,  neither  do  I  wish  to  be  compelled 


282  THE   OFFICERS. 

to  sit  still  in  consequence  of  refusing  him.     I  have  paid  dearly 
for  his  two  epaulets." 

"  My  fool  had  but  one,"  said  Caroline,  "  and  a  citizen's 
coat  beside,  therefore  my  bargain  was  far  worse  than  yours. 
I  have  some  hope,  however,  that  he  has  no  notion  of  asking 
me  again,  and  if  he  has,  that  he  will  not  get  back  from  his 
tour  round  the  squarr  before  the  next  set  begins.  I  wish  his 
cigar  was  the  size  of  one  of  those  candles,  that  he  might  be 
the  longer  getting  through  with  it !  Oh  !  that  some  one  would 
ask  me  immediately  I" 

"  I  am  sure  I  wish  the  same,"  said  Harriet. 

At  that  moment,  they  were  gladdened  by  the  approach  of 
Mr.  Harford,  a  very  ugly  little  man,  whose  dancing  and  de 
portment  were  sufficiently  comme  il  faut,  and  no  more.  And 
when  he  requested  Caroline's  hand  for  the  next  set,  both  the 
girls,  in  their  eagerness,  started  forward,  and  replied  :  "  With 
pleasure." 

Mr.  Harford,  not  appearing  to  perceive  that  her  sister  had 
also  accepted  the  invitation,  bowed  his  thanks  to  Caroline, 
who  introduced  him  to  Miss  Clements.  Harriet,  recollecting 
herself,  blushed  and  drew  back ;  while  Sophia,  to  cover  her 
niece's  confusion,  entered  into  conversation  with  the  gen 
tleman. 

Presently,  Major  Steifenbiegen  came  up  with  three  or  four 
glasses  of  lemonade  on  a  waiter,  and  a  plate  piled  high  with 
cakes  \  all  of  which  he  pressed  on  the  ladies  with  most  urgent 
perseverance,  evidently  desirous  that  they  should  drain  the 
last  drop  of  the  lemonade,  and  finish  the  last  morsel  of  the 
cakes. 

As  soon  as  they  had  partaken  of  these  refreshments,  Mr. 
Harford  led  Caroline  to  a  cotillion  that  was  arranging.  While 
talking  to  him  she  felt  some  one  twitch  her  sleeve,  and  turning 
round  she  beheld  Lieutenant  Tinsley. 

"  So,  miss,"  said  he,  "  you  have  given  me  the  slip.  Well, 
I  have  not  been  gone  long.  My  cigyar  was  not  good,  so  I 
chuck'd  it  away  in  short  order ;  and  I  came  back,  and  have  been 
looking  all  about ;  but  seeing  nobody  prettier,  I  concluded  I 
might  as  well  take  you  out  for  this  dance  also.  However, 
there's  not  much  harm  done,  as  I  suppose  you'll  have  no  objec 
tion  to  dance  with  me  next  time  ]  and  I'll  try  to  get  up  a  Vir 
ginia  reel." 

Caroline,  much  vexed,  replied,  "  I  believe  I  shall  dance  no 
more  after  this  set." 


THE   OFFICERS.  283 

"  What !  tired  already  !"  exclaimed  Tinsley ;  "  it's  easy  to 
see  you  are  not  old  Virginia." 

"  I  hope  so/'  said  Caroline,  petulantly. 

"Why,  that's  rather  a  quare  answer,"  resumed  Tinsley, 
after  pondering  a  moment  till  he  had  comprehended  the  in 
nuendo  j  "  but  I  suppose  ladies  must  be  allowed  to  say  what 
they  please.  Good  evening,  miss." 

And  he  doggedly  walked  off,  murmuring,  "  After  all,  these 
Philadelphia  girls  are  not  worth  a  copper." 

When  Caroline  turned  round  again,  she  was  delighted  to 
perceive  the  glitter  of  his  epaulet  amidst  a  group  of  young 
men  that  were  leaving  the  room ;  and  the  music  now  striking 
up,  she  cheerfully  led  off  with  good,  ugly  Mr.  Harford,  who 
had  risen  highly  in  her  estimation  as  contrasted  with  Lieuten 
ant  Tinsley. 

Meanwhile,  Harriet  remained  in  her  seat  beside  her  aunt ; 
the  major  standing  before  them,  prosing  and  complimenting, 
and  setting  forth  his  humble  opinion  of  himself;  in  which 
opinion  the  two  ladies,  in  their  hearts,  most  cordially  joined 
him.  Miss  Clements,  who  had  much  tact,  drew  him  off  from 
her  niece,  by  engaging  him  in  a  dialogue  exactly  suited  to  his 
character  and  capacity;  while,  unperceived  by  the  major,  Mr. 
Thomson  stepped  up,  and,  after  the  interchange  of  a  few 
words,  led  off  Harriet  to  a  cotillion,  saying,  "  Depend  upon  it, 
he  is  not  sufficiently  au  fait  of  the  etiquette  of  a  ball  room  to 
take  offence  at  your  dancing  with  me,  after  having  been  asked 
by  him." 

"  But,  if  he  should  resent  it " 

"  Then  I  shall  know  how  to  answer  him.  But  rely  upon 
it,  there  is  nothing  to  fear." 

It  was  not  till  the  Chace  was  danced,  and  the  major,  hap 
pening  to  turn  his  head  in  following  the  eyes  of  Miss  Clements, 
saw  Harriet  gayly  flying  round  the  cotillion  with  Mr.  Thom 
son,  that  he  missed  her  for  the  first  time, — having  taken  it  for 
granted  that  she  would  dance  with  him.  He  started,  and 
exclaimed — "  Well,  I  certainly  am  the  most  faulty  of  men — 
the  most  condemnable-  -the  most  unpardonable  officer  in  the 
army — to  be  guilty  of  such  neglect — such  rudeness — and  to 
so  fine  a  young  lady.  I  ought  never  to  presume  to  show 
myself  in  the  best  classes  of  society.  Madam,  may  I  hope 
that  you  will  stand  my  friend — that  you  will  help  me  to  gain 
my  pardon  ?" 

"  For  what  ?"  asked  Miss  Clements. 
24 


284  THE   OFFICERS. 

"  For  inviting  that  handsome  young  lady  to  favour  mo  again 
with  her  hand,  and  then  to  neglect  observing  when  the  dance  waa 
about  to  begin,  so  that  she  was  obliged  to  accept  the  offer  of 
another  gentleman.  He,  no  doubt,  stepped  up  just  in  time  to 
save  her  from  sitting  still,  which,  I  am  told,  is  remarkably 
disagreeable  to  young  ladies.  Madam,  I  mean  no  reflection  on 
you— I  ain  incapable  of  any  reflection  on  you — but  (if  I  may 
be  so  bold  as  to  say  so)  it  was  your  fine,  sensible  conversation 
that  drew  me  from  my  duty." 

The  set  being  now  over,  Major  Steifenbiegen  advanced  to 
meet  Mr.  Thomson  and  Miss  Darnel,  and  he  accosted  the 
former  with — «  Sir,  give  me  your  hand.  Sir,  you  are  a  gentle 
man,  and  I  am  much  obligated  to  you  for  sparing  this  young 
lady  the  mortification  of  not  dancing  with  me." 

("  You  may  leave  out  the  '  not/  "  murmured  Harriet  to 
herself.) 

"  Of  not  enjoying  the  dance  to  which  I  had  invited  her,  and 
of  saving  her  from  sitting  still  for  want  of  a  partner — all  owing 
to  my  unofficer-like  conduct  in  neglecting  to  claim  her  hand. 
I  begin  to  perceive  that  I  want  some  more  practice  in  ball 
behaviour.  I  thank  you  again  for  your  humane  kindness  to 
the  young  lady,  which,  I  hope,  will  turn  aside  her  anger  from 
JUG." 

"  Oh,  yes !"  said  Harriet,  almost  afraid  to  speak  lest  she 
should  laugh. 

"  Will  you  favour  me  with  your  name,  sir  ?"  pursued  the 
major. 

Mr.  Thomson  gave  it,  much  amused  at  the  turn  that  things 
had  taken.  The  major,  after  admiring  the  name,  said  he 
should  always  remember  it  with  esteem,  and  regretted  that 
his  having  to  set  out  for  Plattsburgh  early  on  the  following 
morning  would,  for  the  present,  prevent  their  farther  acquaint 
ance.  He  then  made  sundry  other  acknowledgments  to  Harriet 
for  all  the  honours  she  had  done  him  that  evening,  including 
her  forgiveness  of  his  "letting  her  dance  without  him," — • 
bowed  to  Caroline,  who  had  just  approached  with  Mr.  liar- 
ford  ;  and,  going  up  to  Miss  Clements,  he  thanked  her  for  her 
conversation,  and  finally  took  his  departure.  The  girls  did 
not  laugh  till  he  was  entirely  out  of  the  room,  though 
Harriet  remarked  that  he  walked  edgeways,  which  she  had 
not  observed  when  he  was  first  brought  up  to  her ;  her  fancy 
being  then  excited,  and  her  perception  blinded  by  the  glitter 
of  his  two  epaulets. 


THE    OFFICERS.  285 

"  "Well,  Miss  Darnel/'  said  Mr.  Wilson,  who  had  just  joined 
them,  "  how  do  you  like  your  field-officer  ?" 

"Need  you  ask  me?"  replied  Harriet.  "In  future  I  shall 
hate  the  sight  of  two  silver  epaulets." 

"  And  I  of  one  gold  one/'  added  Caroline. 

"I  will  not  trust  you/'  said  Mr.  Thomson,  with  a  smile. 

"  We  shall  see,"  said  Mr.  Wilson. 

"  Well,  young  ladies,"  observed  Miss  Clements,  "  you  may 
at  least  deduce  one  moral  from  the  events  of  the  evening.  You 
find  that  it  is  possible  for  officers  to  be  extremely  annoying, 
and  to  deport  themselves  in  a  manner  that  you  would  consider 
intolerable  in  citizens." 

"  It  is  intolerable  in  them,  aunt,"  replied  Harriet,  "  parti 
cularly  when  they  are  stiff  and  ungainly  in  all  their  movements, 
and  dance  shockingly." 

"And  if  they  are  conceited,  and  prating,  and  ungcnteel," 
added  Caroline. 

"  Awkward  in  their  expressions,  and  dull  in  their  ideas," 
pursued  Harriet. 

"  Talking  ridiculously  and  behaving  worse,"  continued 
Caroline. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Sophia  Clements,  "  candour  must  com 
pel  us  to  acknowledge  that  these  two  gentlemen  are  anything 
but  fair  specimens  of  their  profession,  which  I  am  very  sure 
can  boast  a  large  majority  of  intelligent,  polished,  and  ac 
complished  men." 

"  Be  that  as  it  may,"  replied  Harriet,  "  I  confess  that  my 
delight  in  the  show  and  parade  of  war,  and  my  admiration  of 
officers,  has  received  a  severe  shock  to-night.  '  My  thoughts, 
I  must  confess,  are  turned  on  peace.'  " 

"  I  fear  these  pacific  feelings  are  too  sudden  to  be  lasting," 
remarked  Miss  Clements,  "and  in  a  day  or  two  we  shall  find 

that  t your  voice  is  still  for  war.' " 

*  *  #  *  * 

The  following  morning  the  young  ladies  did  more  sewing 
than  on  any  day  for  the  last  two  years,  sitting  all  the  time  in 
the  back  parlour.  In  the  afternoon,  Harriet  read  Ccelebs 
aloud  to  her  mother  and  aunt,  and  Caroline  went  out  to  do 
some  shopping.  When  she  came  home,-  she  told  of  her  having 
stopped  in  at  Mrs.  Raymond's,  and  of  her  finding  the  family 
just  going  to  tea  with  an  officer  as  their  guest.  "They 
pressed  me  urgently,"  said  she,  "to  sit  down  and  take  tea  with 


286  THE   OFFICERS. 

them,  and  to  remain  and  spend  the  evening;  but  I  steadily 
excused  myself,  notwithstanding  the  officer." 

"  Grood  girl !"  said  Sophia. 

"  To  be  sure/'  added  Caroline,  "  he  was  only  in  a  citizen's 
dress." 

"  Ah  !"  said  Mrs.  Darnel,  "  that  materially  alters  the  case. 
Had  he  been  in  uniform,  I  am  sure  your  steadiness  would  have 
given  way." 

In  less  than  two  days  all  their  anti-military  resolutions  were 
overset,  and  the  young  ladies  were  again  on  the  gui  vive,  in 
consequence  of  the  promulgation  of  an  order  for  the  return  of 
the  volunteers  from  Camp  Dupont,  as,  the  winter  having  set 
in,  the  enem}^  had  retired  from  the  vicinity  of  the  Delaware 
and  Chesapeake.  The  breaking  up  of  this  encampment  was 
an  event  of  much  interest  to  the  inhabitants  of  Philadelphia, 
as  there  were  few  of  them  that  had  not  a  near  relative,  or  an 
intimate  friend  among  those  citizen-soldiers. 

On  the  morning  that  they  marched  home  all  business  was 
suspended ;  the  pavements  and  door-steps  were  crowded  with 
spectators,  and  the  windows  filled  with  ladies,  eager  to  recog 
nise  among  the  returning  volunteers  their  brothers,  sons,  hus 
bands,  or  lovers, — who,  on  their  side,  cast  many  upward 
glances  towards  the  fair  groups  that  were  gazing  on  them. 

The  British  General  Riall,  who  had  been  taken  prisoner  at 
the  battle  of  Niagara,  chanced  to  be  at  a  house  on  the  roadside 
when  this  gallant  band  went  by,  on  their  way  to  Philadelphia. 
It  is  said  that  he  remarked  to  an  American  gentleman  near 
him,  "  You  should  never  go  to  war  with  us — the  terms  are  too 
unequal.  Men  like  these  are  too  valuable  to  be  thrown  away 
in  battle  with  such  as  compose  our  armies,  which  are  formed 
from  the  overflowings  of  a  superabundant  population  •  while 
here  I  see  not  a  man  that  you  can  spare." 

And  he  was  essentially  right. 

The  volunteers  entered  the  city  by  the  central  bridge,  and 
came  down  Market  street.  All  were  in  high  spirits,  and  glad 
to  return  once  more  to  their  homes  and  families.  But  unfor 
tunate  were  those  who  on  that  day  formed  the  rear-guard,  it 
being  their  inglorious  lot  to  come  in  late  in  the  afternoon, 
after  the  spectators  had  withdrawn,  convoying,  with  "toilsome 
march,  the  long  array"  of  baggage-wagons,  which  they  had 
been  all  day  forcing  through  the  heavy  roads  of  an  early  win 
ter,  cold,  weary,  and  dispirited,  with  no  music  to  cheer  them, 
no  acclamations  to  greet  them.  No  doubt,  however,  their  cha- 


287 

grin  was  soon  dispelled,  and  their  enjoyment  proportionately 
great,  when  at  last  they  reached  their  own  domestic  hearths, 
and^net  the  joyous  faces  and  happy  hearts  assembled  round 
them. 

A  few  days  after  the  return  of  the  volunteers,  Mrs,  Darnel 
received  a  letter  from  an  old  friend  of  hers,  Mrs.  Forrester,  a 
lady  of  large  fortune,  residing  in  Boston,  containing  the  inform 
ation  that  her  son,  Colonel  Forrester,  would  shortly  proceed 
to  Philadelphia  from  the  Canada  frontier,  and  that  she  would 
accompany  him,  taking  the  opportunity  of  making  her  a  long- 
promised  visit,  Mrs,  Darnel  replied  immediately,  expressive 
of  the  pleasure  it  would  afford  her  to  meet  again  one  of  the 
most  intimate  companions  of  her  youth,  and  to  have  both 
Mrs.  Forrester  and  the  colonel  staying  at  her  house. 

The  same  post  brought  a  letter  to  Sophia  from  Mr.  Clements, 
her  brother,  in  New  York,  who,  after  telling  her  of  his  having 
heard  that  Colonel  Forrester  would  shortly  be  in  Philadelphia, 
jestingly  proposed  her  attempting  the  conquest  of  his  heart, 
as  he  was  not  only  a  gallant  officer,  but  a  man  of  high  charac 
ter  and  noble  appearance.  Sophia  showed  this  letter  to  no  one, 
but  she  read  it  twice  over, — the  first  time  with  a  smile,  the 
second  time  with  a  blush.  She  had  heard  much  of  Colonel 
Forrester,  of  whom  "report  spoke  goldenly;"  and  several 
times  in  New  York  she  had  seen  him  in  public,  but  had  never 
chanced  to  meet  him,  except  once  at  a  very  large  party,  when 
accident  had  prevented  his  introduction  to  her. 

Harriet  and  Caroline  were  almost  wild  with  delight  at  the 
prospect  of  an  intimate  acquaintance  with  this  accomplished 
warrior;  but  their  joy  was  somewhat  damped  by  the  arrival 
of  a  second  letter  from  Mrs.  Forrester,  in  which  she  designated 
the  exact  time  when  she  might  be  expected  at  the  house  of 
her  friend,  but  said  that  her  son,  having  some  business  that 
would  detain  him  several  weeks  in  Philadelphia,  would  not 
trespass  on  the  hospitality  of  Mrs.  Darnel,  but  had  made 
arrangements  for  staying  at  a  hotel. 

"  He  is  perfectly  right,"  said  Sophia.  "  I  concluded,  of 
course,  that  he  would  do  so.  Few  gentlemen,  when  in  a  city, 
like  to  stay  at  private  houses,  if  they  can  be  accommodated 
else  where. " 

"  At  all  events,"  said  Harriet,  "his  mother  will  be  with  us, 
and  he  must  come  every  day  to  pay  his  duty  to  her." 

" That's  some  comfort,"  pursued  Caroline;  "and,  no  doubt; 
we  shall  see  a  great  deal  of  him,  one  way  or  another." 
24* 


288  THE   OFFICERS. 

Sophia  Clements,  though  scarcely  conscious  of  it  herself, 
felt  a  secret  desire  of  appearing  to  advantage  in  the  eyes  of 
Colonel  Forrester.  Her  two  nieces  felt  the  same  desire,  e^ept 
that  they  made  it  no  secret.  They  had  worked  up  their  ima 
ginations  to  the  persuasion  that  Colonel  Forrester  was  the 
finest  man  in  the  army,  and  therefore  the  finest  in  the  world, 
and  they  anticipated  the  delight  of  his  being  their  frequent 
guest  during  the  stay  of  his  mother;  of  his  morning  visits, 
and  his  evening  visits ;  of  having  him  at  dinner  and  at  tea ; 
of  planning  excursions  with  him  to  show  Mrs.  Forrester  the 
lions  of  the  city  and  its  vicinity,  when,  of  course,  he  would 
be  their  escort.  They  imagined  him  walking  in  Chestnut 
street  with  them,  and  sitting  in  the  same  box  at  the  theatre. 
Be  it  remembered,  that  during  the  war,  officers  in  the  regular 
service  were  seldom  seen  out  of  uniform,  and  even  when  habit 
ed  as  citizens  they  were  always  distinguished  by  that  "  gallant 
badge,  the  dear  cockade."  Perhaps,  also,  Colonel  Forrester 
and  his  mother  might  accompany  them  to  a  ball,  and  they 
would  then  have  the  glory  of  dancing  with  an  officer  so  ele 
gant  as  entirely  to  efface  their  mortification  at  their  former 
military  partners.  We  need  not  say  that  Messrs.  Wilson  and 
Thomson  were  again  at  a  discount. 

The  girls  were  taken  with  an  immediate  want  of  various 
new  articles  of  dress,  and  had  their  attention  been  less  engaged 
by  the  activity  of  their  preparations  for  "  looking  their  very 
best,"  the  time  that  intervened  between  the  receipt  of  Mrs. 
Forrester's  last  letter  and  that  appointed  for  their  arrival, 
would  have  seemed  of  length  immeasurable. 

At  last  came  the  eve  of  the  day  on  which  these  all-import 
ant  strangers  were  expected.  As  they  quitted  the  tea-table, 
one  of  the  young  ladies  remarked  : — 

"  By  this  time  to-morrow,  we  shall  have  seen  Col.  Forrester 
and  his  mother." 

"  As  to  the  mother,"  observed  Mrs.  Darnel,  "  I  am  very 
sure  that  were  it  not  for  the  son,  the  expectation  of  her  visit 
would  excite  but  little  interest  in  either  of  you — though,  as 
you  have  often  heard  me  say,  she  is  a  very  agreeable  and  highly 
intelligent  woman." 

"  We  can  easily  perceive  it  from  her  letters,"  said  Sophia. 

Mrs.  Darnel,  complaining  of  the  headache,  retired  for  the 
night  very  early  in  the  evening,  desiring  that  she  might  not 
be  disturbed.  Sophia  took  some  needle-work,  and  each  of  the 
girls  tried  a  book,  but  were  too  restless  and  unsettled  to  read, 


THE  OFFICERS.  289 

and  they  alternately  walked  about  the  room  or  extended  them 
selves  on  the  sofas.  It  was  a  dark,  stormy  night- — the  win 
dows  rattled,  and  the  pattering  of  the  rain  against  the  glass 
was  plainly  heard  through  the  inside  shutters. 

"I  wish  to-morrow  evening  were  come,"  said  Harriet, 
"  and  that  the  introduction  was  over,  and  we  were  all  seated 
round  the  tea-table." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Caroline,  "  I  have  a  presentiment  that 
everything  will  go  on  well.  We  will  all  do  notre  possible  to 
look  our  very  best ;  mamma  will  take  care  that  the  rooms  and 
the  table  shall  be  arranged  in  admirable  style — and  if  you 
and  I  can  only  manage  to  talk  and  behave  just  as  we  ought, 
there  is  nothing  to  fear." 

"  I  hope,  indeed,  that  Colonel  Forrester  will  like  us,"  re 
joined  Harriet,  aand  be  indeed  to  continue  his  visits  when 
he  again  comes  to  Philadelphia." 

"  Much  depends  on  the  first  impression,"  remarked  Miss 
Clements. 

"  Now  let  us  just  imagine  over  the  arrival  of  Colonel  and 
Mrs.  Forrester,"  said  Harriet. — "  The  lamps  lighted,  and  the 
fires  burning  brightly  in  both  rooms.  In  the  back  parlour, 
the  tea-table  set  out  with  the  French  china  and  the  chased 
plate  '} — mamma  sitting  in  an  arm-chair  with  her  feet  on  one 
of  the  embroidered  footstools,  dressed  in  her  queen' s-gray 
lutestring,  and  one  of  her  Brussels  lace  caps — I  suppose  the 
one  trimmed  with  white  riband.  Aunt  Sophia  in  her  myrtle- 
green  levantine,  seated  at  the  marble  table  in  the  front  par 
lour,  holding  in  her  hand  an  elegant  book — for  instance,  her 
beautiful  copy  of  the  Pleasures  of  Hope.  Caroline  and  I  will 
wear  our  new  scarlet  Canton  crapes  with  the  satin  trimming, 
and  our  coral  ornaments." 

"No,  no,"  rejoined  Caroline;  "we  resemble  each  other  so 
much  that,  if  we  are  dressed  alike,  Colonel  Forrester  will  find 
too  great  a  sameness  in  us.  Do  you  wear  your  scarlet  crape, 
and  I  will  put  on  my  white  muslin  with  the  six  narrow  flounces 
headed  with  insertion.*  I  have  reserved  it  clean  on  purpose ; 
and  I  think  Aunt  Sophia  had  best  wear  her  last  new  coat 
dress,  with  the  lace  trimming.  It  is  so  becoming  to  her  with 
a  pink  silk  handkerchief  tied  under  the  collar." 

"Well,"  said  Harriet,  "I  will  be  seated  at  the  table  also, 

*  In  those  days,  white  muslin  dresses  were  worn  both  in  winter 
and  summer. 


290  THE  OFFICERS. 

not  reading,  but  working  a  pair  of  cambric  cuffs ;  my  mother- 
of-pearl  work-box  before  me," 

"  And  I,"  resumed  Caroline,  "  will  be  found  at  the  piano, 
turning  over  the  leaves  of  a  new  music-book,  Every  one  looks 
their  best  on  a  music-stool ;  it  shows  the  figure  to  advantage, 
and  the  dress  falls  in  such  graceful  folds/' 

"  My  hair  shall  be  d  la  Grccque,"  said  Harriet, 

"  And  mine  in  the  Vandyke  style/'  said  Caroline, 

"  But/'  asked  Sophia,  "  are  the  strangers  on  entering  the 
room  to  find  us  all  sitting  up  in  form,  and  arranged  for  effect, 
like  actresses  waiting  for  the  bell  to  ring  and  the  curtain  to 
rise  ?  How  can  you  pretend  that  you  were  not  the  least  aware 
of  their  approach  till  they  were  actually  in  the  room,  when 
you  know  very  well  that  you  will  be  impatiently  listening  to 
the  sound  of  every  carriage  till  you  hear  theirs  stop  at  the 
door.  Never,  certainly,  will  a  visitor  come  less  unexpectedly 
than  Colonel  Forrester." 

"  But  you  know,  aunt,"  replied  Caroline,  "  how  much  de 
pends  on  a  first  impression." 

"  Well,"  resumed  Harriet,  "  I  have  thought  of  another  way. 
As  soon  as  they  enter  the  front  parlour  let  us  all  advance 
through  the  folding  doors  to  meet  them, — mamma  leading  the 
van  with  Aunt  Sophy,  Caroline  and  I  arm  in  arm  behind." 

"  No,"  said  Caroline,  "  let  us  not  be  close  together,  so  that 
the  same  glance  can  take  in  both." 

"  Then,"  rejoined  Harriet,  "  I  will  be  a  few  steps  in  advance 
of  you.  You,  as  the  youngest,  should  be  timid,  and  should  hold 
back  a  little ;  while  I,  as  the  eldest,  should  have  more  self- 
possession.  Variety  is  advisable." 

"  But  I  cannot  be  timid  all  the  time,"  said  Caroline ;  "  that 
will  require  too  great  an  effort." 

"  We  must  not  laugh  and  talk  too  much  at  first,"  observed 
Harriet ;  "  but  all  we  say  must  be  both  sprightly  and  sensible. 
However,  we  shall  have  the  whole  day  to-morrow  to  make  our 
final  arrangements  ]  and  I  think  I  am  still  in  favour  of  the 
sitting  reception." 

"  Whether  he  has  a  sitting  or  a  standing  reception,"  said 
Caroline,  "  let  the  colonel  have  as  striking  a  coup  d'ceil  as 
possible." 

Their  brother  Robert  had  gone  to  the  theatre  by  invitation 
of  a  family  with  whose  sons  he  was  intimate ;  and  Sophia 
Clements,  who  was  desirous  of  finishing  a  highly  interesting 


THE    OFFICERS.  291 

Ibook,  and  who  was  not  in  the  least  addicted  to  sleepiness,  vo 
lunteered  to  sit  up  for  him. 

"  I  think/'  said  she,  "  as  the  hour  is  too  late,  and  the  night 
too  stormy  to  expect  any  visiters,  I  will  go  and  exchange  my 
dress  for  a  wrapper ;  I  can  then  be  perfectly  at  my  ease  while 
sitting  up  for  Robert.  I  will  first  ring  for  Peter  to  move  one 
of  the  sofas  to  the  side  of  the  fire,  and  to  place  the  reading- 
lamp  upon  the  table  before  it." 

She  did  so ;  and  in  a  short  time  she  came  down  in  a  loose 
double  wrapper,  and  with  her  curls  pinned  up. 

"  Really,  Aunt  Sophy,"  said  Harriet,  "  that  is  an  excellent 
idea.  Caroline,  let  us  pin  our  hair  here  in  the  parlour  before 
the  mantel-glass ;  that  will  be  better  still — our  own  toilet  table 
is  far  from  the  fire." 

"  True,"  replied  Caroline,  "  and  you  are  always  so  long  at 
the  dressing-glass  that  it  is  an  age  before  I  can  get  to  it, — but 
here,  if  there  were  even  four  of  us,  we  could  all  stand  in  a 
row  and  arrange  our  hair  together  before  this  long  mirror." 

They  sent  up  for  their  combs  and  brushes,  their  boxes  of 
hair  pins,  and  their  flannel  dressing-gowns,  and  placed  candles 
on  the  mantel-piece,  preparing  for  what  they  called  "  clear 
comfort ;"  while  Sophia  reclined  on  the  sofa  by  the  fire,  deeply 
engaged  with  Miss  Owenson's  new  novel.  The  girls,  having 
poured  some  cologne-water  into  a  glass,  wetted  out  all  their 
ringlets  with  it,  preparatory  to  the  grand  curling  that  was  to 
be  undertaken  for  the  morrow,  and  which  was  not  to  be  opened 
out  during  the  day. 

Harriet  had  just  taken  out  her  comb  and  untied  her  long 
hair  behind,  to  rehearse  its  arrangement  for  the  ensuing  even 
ing,  when  a  ring  was  heard  at  the  street-door. 

"  That's  Bob,"  said  Caroline.  "  He  is  very  early  from  the 
theatre ;  I  wonder  he  should  come  home  without  staying  for 
the  farce." 

Presently  their  black  man,  with  a  grin  of  high  delight, 
threw  open  the  parlour-door,  and  ushered  in  an  elegant-looking 
officer,  who,  having  left  his  cloak  in  the  hall,  appeared  before 
them  in  full  uniform, — and  they  saw  at  a  glance  that  it  could 
be  no  one  but  Colonel  Forrester. 

Words  cannot  describe  the  consternation  and  surprise  of  the 
young  ladies.  Sophia  dropped  her  book,  and  started  on  her 
feet ;  Harriet  throwing  down  her  comb  so  that  it  broke  in 
pieces  on  the  hearth,  retreated  to  a  chair  that  stood  behind  the 
eofa  with  such  precipitation  as  nearly  to  overset  the  table  and 


292  THE    OFFICERS. 

the  reading-lamp ;  and  Caroline,  scattering  her  hair-pins  over 
the  carpet,  knew  not  where  she  was,  till  she  found  herself  on 
a  footstool  in  one  of  the  recesses.  Alas !  for  the  coup  d'oil 
and  the  first  impression  !  Instead  of  heads  a  la  Grccq-uc,  or 
in  the  Vandyke  fashion,  their  whole  clievelure  was  disordered, 
and  their  side-locks  straightened  into  long  strings,  and  cling 
ing,  wet  and  ungraceful,  to  their  cheeks.  Instead  of  scarlet 
crape  frocks  trimmed  with  satin,  or  white  muslin  with  six 
flounces,  their  figures  were  enveloped  in  flannel  dressing-gowns. 
All  question  of  the  sitting  reception,  or  the  standing  reception 
was  now  at  an  end ;  for  Harriet  was  hiding  unsuccessfully  be 
hind  the  sofa,  and  Caroline  crouching  on  a  footstool  in  the 
corner,  trying  to  conceal  a  large  rent  which  in  her  hurry  she 
had  given  to  her  flannel  gown.  Resolutions  never  again  to 
make  their  toilet  in  the  parlour,  regret  that  they  had  not 
thought  of  flying  into  the  adjoining  room  and  shutting  the 
folding-doors  after  them,  and  wonder  at  the  colonel's  premature 
appearance,  all  passed  through  their  minds  with  the  rapidity 
of  lightning. 

Sophia,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  rallied  from  her  confu 
sion  ;  and  her  natural  good  sense  and  ease  of  manner  came  to 
her  aid,  as  she  curtsied  to  the  stranger  and  pointed  to  a  seat. 
Colonel  Forrester,  who  saw  at  once  that  he  had  come  at  an 
unlucky  season,  after  introducing  himself,  and  saying  he  pre 
sumed  he  was  addressing  Miss  Clements,  proceeded  imme 
diately  to  explain  the  reason  of  his  being  a  day  in  advance  of 
the  appointed  time.  He  stated  that  his  mother,  on  account 
of  the  dangerous  illness  of  an  intimate  and  valued  friend,  had 
been  obliged  to  postpone  her  visit  to  Philadelphia;  and  that 
in  consequence  of  an  order  from  the  war-office,  which  required 
his  immediate  presence  at  Washington,  he  had  been  obliged 
to  leave  Boston  a  day  sooner  than  he  intended,  and  to  travel 
with  all  the  rapidity  that  the  public  conveyances  would  admit. 
He  had  arrived  about  eight  o'clock  at  the  Mansion  House 
Hotel,  where  a  dinner  was  given  that  evening  to  a  distinguished 
naval  commander.  Colonel  Forrester  had  immediately  been 
waited  upon  by  a  deputation  from  the  dinner-table,  with  a 
pressing  invitation  to  join  the  company ;  and  this  (though  he 
did  not  then  allude  to  it)  was  the  reason  of  his  being  in  full 
uniform.  Compelled  to  pursue  his  journey  very  early  in  the 
morning,  he  had  taken  the  opportunity,  as  soon  as  he  could 
get  away  from  the  table,  of  paying  his  compliments  to  tho 
ladies,  and  bringing  with  him  a  letter  to  Miss  Clements  from 


THE   OFFICERS.  293 

her  brother,  whom  he  had  seen  in  passing  through  New  York, 
and  one  from  his  mother  for  Mrs.  Darnel. 

Grievously  chagrined  and  mortified  as  the  girls  were,  they 
listened  admiringly  to  the  clear  and  handsome  manner  in 
which  the  colonel  made  his  explanation,  and  they  more  than 
ever  regretted  that  all  their  castles  in  the  air  were  demolished, 
and  that  after  this  unlucky  visit  he  would  probahly  have  no 
desire  to  see  them  again,  when  he  came  to  Philadelphia  on  bis 
return  from  Washington. 

Sophia,  who  saw  at  once  that  she  had  to  deal  with  a  man 
of  tact  and  consideration,  felt  that  an  apology  for  the  disorder 
in  which  he  had  found  them  was  to  him  totally  unnecessary, 
being  persuaded  that  he  already  comprehended  all  she  could 
have  said  in  the  way  of  excuse ;  and,  with  true  civility,  she 
forbore  to  make  any  allusion  which  might  remind  him  tbat 
his  unexpected  visit  had  caused  them  discomfiture  or  annoy 
ance.  Kindred  spirits  soon  understand  each  other. 

The  girls  were  amazed  to  see  their  aunt  so  cool  and  so  much 
at  her  ease,  when  her  beautiful  hair  was  pinned  up,  and  her 
beautiful  form  disfigured  by  a  large  wrapper.  But  the  colonel 
had  penetration  enough  to  perceive  that  under  all  these  disad 
vantages  she  was  an  elegant  woman. 

Harriet  and  Caroline,  though  longing  to  join  in  the  conver 
sation,  made  signs  to  Sophia  not  to  introduce  them  to  the 
colonel,  as  they  could  not  endure  the  idea  of  his  attention 
being  distinctly  attracted  towards  them  j  and  they  perceived 
that  in  the  fear  of  adding  to  their  embarrassment  he  seemed 
to  avoid  noticing  their  presence.  But  they  contrived  to  ex 
change  signals  of  approbation  at  his  wearing  the  staff  uniform, 
with  its  golden-looking  bullet  buttons,  and  its  shining  star  on 
each  extremity  of  the  coat  skirts. 

Colonel  Forrester  now  began  to  admire  a  picture  that  hung 
over  the  piano,  and  Sophia  took  a  candle  and  conducted  him 
to  it,  that  while  his  back  was  towards  them,  the  girls  might 
have  an  opportunity  of  rising  and  slipping  out  of  the  room. 
Of  this  lucky  chance  they  instantly  and  with  much  adroitness 
availed  themselves,  ran  up  stairs,  and  in  a  shorter  time  than 
they  had  ever  before  changed  their  dresses,  they  came  back 
with  frocks  on, — not,  however,  the  scarlet  crape,  and  the  six- 
flounced  muslin, — and  with  their  hair  nicely  but  simply  ar 
ranged,  by  parting  it  on  their  foreheads  in  front,  and  turning 
it  in  a  band  round  their  combs  behind.  Sophia  introduced 
them  to  the  colonel,  and  they  were  now  able  to  speak ;  but 


294  THE   OFFICERS. 

were  still  too  much  discomposed  by  their  recent  fright  to  be 
very  fluent,  or  much  at  their  ease. 

In  the  mean  time,  their  brother  Robert  had  come  home 
from  the  theatre ;  and  the  boy's  eyes  sparkled,  when,  on  Miss 
Clements  presenting  her  nephew,  the  colonel  shook  hands  with 
him. 

Colonel  Forrester  began  to  find  it  difficult  to  depart,  and  he 
was  easily  induced  to  stay  and  partake  of  the  little  collation 
that  was  on  the  table  waiting  the  return  of  Robert  \  and  the 
ease  and  grace  with  which  Sophia  did  the  honours  of  their 
petit  souper  completely  charmed  him. 

In  conversation,  Colonel  Forrester  was  certainly  "  both 
sprightly  and  sensible."  He  had  read  much,  seen  much,  and 
was  peculiarly  happy  in  his  mode  of  expressing  himself.  Time 
flew  as  if 

" birds  of  paradise  had  lent 

Their  plumage  to  his  wings," 

and  when  the  colonel  took  out  his  watch  and  discovered  the 
lateness  of  the  hour,  the  ladies  looked  their  surprise,  and  his 
was  denoted  by  a  very  handsome  compliment  to  them.  He 
then  concluded  his  visit  by  requesting  permission  to  resume 
their  acquaintance  on  his  return  from  Washington. 

As  soon  as  he  had  finally  departed,  and  Robert  had  locked 
the  door  after  him,  the  girls  broke  out  into  a  rhapsody  of  ad 
miration,  mingled  with  regret  at  the  state  in  which  he  had 
surprised  them,  and  the  entire  failure  of  their  first  impression, 
which  they  feared  had  not  been  retrieved  by  their  second  ap 
pearance  in  an  improved  style. 

"  Well,"  said  Bob,  "  yours  may  have  been  a  failure,  but  I 
am  sure  that  was  not  the  case  with  Aunt  Sophia.  It  is  plain 
enough  that  the  colonel's  impression  of  her  turned  out  very 
well  indeed,  notwithstanding  that  she  kept  on  her  wrapper, 
and  had  her  hair  pinned  up  all  the  time.  Aunt  Sophy  is  a 
person  that  a  man  may  fall  in  love  with  in  any  dress ;  that  is, 
a  man  who  has  as  much  sense  as  herself." 

"  As  I  am  going  to  be  a  midshipman,"  continued  Robert, 
"  there  is  one  thing  I  particularly  like  in  Colonel  Forrester, 
which  is,  that  he  is  not  in  the  least  jealous  of  the  navy.  How 
handsomely  he  spoke  of  the  sea-officers  !" 

"  A  man  of  sense  and  feeling,"  observed  Sophia,  "  is  rarely 
susceptible  of  so  mean  a  vice  as  jealousy." 

"  How  animated  he  looked,"  pursued  the  boy,  "  when  he 


THE   OFFICERS.  295 

spoke  of  Midshipman  Hamilton  arriving  at  Washington  with 
the  news  of  the  capture  of  the  Macedonian,  and  going  in  his 
travelling  dress  to  Mrs.  Madison's  ball,  in  search  of  his  father 
the  secretary  of  the  navy,  to  show  his  despatches  to  him,  and 
the  flag  of  the  British  frigate  to  the  President,  carrying  it 
with  him  for  the  purpose.  No  wonder  the  dancing  ceased, 
and  the  ladies  cried/' 

"  Did  you  observe  him,"  said  Harriet,  "  when  he  talked  of 
Captain  Crowninshield  going  to  Halifax  to  bring  home  the 
body  of  poor  Lawrence,  in  a  vessel  of  his  own,  manned  en 
tirely  by  twelve  sea-captains,  who  volunteered  for  the  pur 
pose  ?" 

"  And  did  not  you  like  him,"  said  Caroline,  "  when  he  was 
speaking  of  Perry  removing  in  his  boat  from  the  Lawrence  to 
the  Niagara,  in  the  thickest  of  the  battle,  and  carrying  his 
flag  on  his  arm  ?  And  when  he  praised  the  gallant  seamanship 
of  Captain  Morris,  when  he  took  advantage  of  a  tremendous 
tempest  to  sail  out  of  the  Chesapeake,  where  he  had  been  so 
long  blockaded  by  the  enemy,  passing  fearlessly  through  the 
midst  of  the  British  squadron,  not  one  of  them  daring,  on  ac 
count  of  the  storm,  to  follow  him  to  sea  and  fight  him." 

"  The  eloquence  of  the  colonel  seems  to  have  inspired  you 
all,"  said  Sophia. 

"Aunt  Sophy,"  remarked  Caroline,  "at  supper  to-night, 
did  you  feel  as  firm  in  your  resolution  of  never  marrying  an 
officer,  as  you  were  at  the  tea-table  ?" 

(( Colonel  Forrester  is  not  the  only  agreeable  man  I  have 
met  with,"  replied  Miss  Clements,  evading  the  question.  "  It 
has  been  my  good  fortune  to  know  many  gentlemen  that  were 
handsome  and  intelligent." 

"Well,"  said  Robert,  "one  thing  is  plain  enough  to  me, 
that  Colonel  Forrester  is  exactly  suited  to  Aunt  Sophy,  and 
he  knows  it  himself." 

"  And  now,  Bob,"  said  Sophia,  blushing,  "  light  your  candle,, 
and  go  to  bed." 

"  Bob  is  right,"  observed  Harriet,  after  he  had  gone ;  "  I 
saw  in  a  moment  that  such  a  man  as  Colone.1  Forrester  would, 
never  fancy  me." 

"  Nor  me,"  said  Caroline. 

Sophia  kissed  her  nieces  with  more  kindness  than  usu^ll  3$ 
they  bade  her  good-night.    And  they  retired  to  bed  impatiirat 
for  the  arrival  of  morning,  that  they  might  give  their  mpjjuer 
all  the  particulars  of  Colo-.^l  Forrester's  visit. 
25 


296  THE   OFFICERS. 

In  a  fortnight,  he  returned  from  Washington,  and  this  time 
he  made  his  first  visit  in  the  morning,  and  saw  all  the  ladies 
to  the  best  advantage.  His  admiration  of  Sophia  admitted 
not  of  a  doubt.  Being  employed  for  the  remainder  of  the 
winter  on  some  military  duty  in  Philadelphia,  he  went  for  a 
few  days  to  Boston  and  brought  his  mother  (whose  friend  had 
recovered  from  her  illness),  to  fulfil  her  expected  visit.  The 
girls  found  Mrs.  Forrester  a  charming  woman,  and,  fortu 
nately  for  them,  very  indulgent  to  the  follies  of  young  people. 
The  colonel  introduced  to  them  various  officers  that  were 
passing  through  the  city,  so  that  they  really  did  walk  in 
Chestnut  street  with  gentlemen  in  uniform,  and  sat  in  boxes 
with  them  at  the  theatre. 

Before  the  winter  was  over,  Sophia  Clements  had  promised 
to  become  Mrs.  Forrester  as  soon  as  the  war  was  at  an  end. 
This  fortunate  event  took  place  sooner  than  was  expected,  the 
treaty  having  been  made,  though  it  did  not  arrive,  previous 
to  the  victory  of  New  Orleans.  The  colonel  immediately 
claimed  the  hand  of  the  lady,  and  the  wedding  and  its  pre 
parations,  by  engaging  the  attention  of  Harriet  and  Caroline, 
enabled  them  to  conform  to  the  return  of  peace  with  more 
philosophy  than  was  expected.  The  streets  no  longer  re 
sounded  with  drums  and  fifes.  Most  of  the  volunteer  corps 
disbanded  themselves — the  army  was  reduced,  and  the  officers 
left  off  wearing  their  uniforms,  except  when  at  their  posts. 
The  military  ardour  of  the  young  ladies  rapidly  subsided — 
citizens  were  again  at  par — and  Harriet  and  Caroline  began 
to  look  with  complacence  on  their  old  admirers.  Messrs. 
Wilson  and  Thomson  were  once  more  in  favour — and,  seeing 
the  coast  clear,  they,  in  process  of  time,  ventured  to  propose, 
and  were  thankfully  accepted. 


PETER    JONES. 

A  SKETCH  FROM  LIFE. 
Let  the  players  be  cared  for." — SHAKSPEABB. 


IN  the  early  part  of  the  present  century,  there  lived  in  one 
of  the  long  streets  in  the  south-eastern  section  of  Philadelphia, 
a  tailor,  whom  we  shall  introduce  to  our  readers  by  the  name  of 
Peter  Jones.  His  old-fashioned  residence,  which  (strange  to 
say)  is  yet  standing,  was  not  then  put  out  of  countenance  by  the 
modern-built  structures  that  have  since  been  run  up  on  each 
side  of  it.  There  were,  it  is  true,  three  or  four  new  houses 
nearly  opposite,  all  of  them  tenanted  by  genteel  families — but 
Peter's- side  of  the  way  (at  least  for  the  length  of  a  square), 
was  yet  untouched  by  the  hand  of  improvement,  his  own  do 
micile  being  the  largest  and  best  in  the  row,  and  moreover  of 
three  stories — an  advantage  not  possessed  by  the  others.  It 
had  a  square-topped  door  lighted  by  three  small  square  panes 
— the  parlour  window  (there  was  but  one)  being  glazed  to 
match,  also  with  small  glass  and  heavy  wood  work.  The 
blue-painted  wooden  door-step  was  furnished  with  a  very  con 
venient  seat,  denominated  the  porch,  and  sheltered  above  by 
a  moss-grown  pent-house.  The  whole  front  of  the  mansion 
was  shaded  by  an  enormous  buttonwood  tree,  that  looked  as 
if  it  had  been  spared  from  the  primeval  forest  by  the  axe  of  a 
companion  of  William  Penn.  The  house,  indeed,  might  have 
been  the  country  seat  of  one  of  the  early  colonists.  Under 
this  tree  stood  a  pump  of  excellent  water. 

Adjoining  to  the  house  was  a  little  low  blue  frame,  front 
ing  also  the  street — and  no  ground  speculator  could  pass  it 
without  sighing  to  think  that  so  valuable  a  lot  should  be  thus 
wasted.  But  Peter  Jones  owned  both  house  and  shop — his 

(297) 


298  PETER   JONES. 

circumstances  were  comfortable,  his  tastes  and  ideas  the  re 
verse  of  elegant,  and  he  had  sense  enough  to  perceive  that  in 
attempting  a  superior  style  of  life  he  should  be  out  of  his  ele 
ment,  and  therefore  less  happy.  Assisted  at  times  by  a  jour 
neyman,  he  continued  to  work  at  his  trade  because  he  was  used 
to  it,  and  that  he  might  still  have  the  enjoyment  of  making 
clothes  for  three  or  four  veterans  of  the  revolution ;  and  also 
for  two  old  judges,  who  had  been  in  Congress  in  those  sensible 
times  when  that  well-chosen  body  acted  more  and  talked  less. 
All  these  sexagenarians,  having  been  enamoured  of  Peter 
Jones's  cut  when  he  was  the  Watson  of  his  day,  still  retained 
their  predilection  for  it;  liking  also  to  feel  at  ease  in  their 
own  clothes,  and  not  to  wear  garments  that  seemed  as  if  bor 
rowed  from  "  the  sons  of  little  men."  These  gentlemen  of  the 
old  school  never  passed  without  stopping  at  the  shop  window 
to  chat  a  few  words  with  Peter ;  sometimes  stepping  in,  and 
taking  a  seat  on  his  green  Windsor  chair — himself  always 
occupying  the  shop-board,  whether  he  was  at  work  or  not. 

Our  hero,  though  a  tailor,  was  a  tall,  stout,  ruddy,  well- 
looking  old  man,  having  a  fine  capacious  forehead,  thinly 
shaded  with  gray  hair,  which  was  tied  behind  in  a  queue,  and 
a  clear,  lively  blue  eye.  He  had  acquired  something  of  a 
martial  air  while  assisting  in  the  war  of  Independence,  by 
making  regimental  coats — and  no  doubt  this  assistance  was  of 
considerable  importance  to  the  cause,  it  being  then  supposed 
that  all  men,  even  Americans,  fight  better,  and  endure  hard 
ships  longer,  when  dressed  in  uniform. 

Peter  Jones  was  a  very  popular  man  among  his  neighbours, 
being  frank,  good-natured,  and  clever  in  all  manner  of  things. 
As  soon  as  the  new  houses  opposite  were  occupied,  he  made 
acquaintance  with  their  inhabitants,  who  all  regarded  him  as 
what  is  called  a  character;  and  he  never  abused  the  degree 
of  familiarity  to  which  they  admitted  him.  He  was  considered 
a  sort  of  walking  directory — but  when  applied  to,  by  a  new 
settler,  for  the  "  whereabout"  of  a  carpenter  who  might  be 
wanted  for  a  job,  his  usual  answer  was — "  I  believe  I  will 
bring  over  my  saw  and  plane,  and  do  it  myself1' — also,  if  a 
lock-smith  or  bell-hanger  was  inquired  for,  Peter  Jones  gen 
erally  came  himself,  and  repaired  the  lock  or  re-fixed  the  bell ; 
just  as  skilfully  as  if  he  had  been  "to  the  manner  born." 

He  took  several  of  the  opposite  gardens  under  his  special 
protection,  and  supplied  them  with  seeds  and  roots  from  his 
own  stock.  He  was  as  proud  of  their  morning-glories,  queen 


PETER   JONES.  299 

margarets,  johny-jump-ups,  daffydowndillies  (for  so  in  primi 
tive  parlance  he  called  all  these  beautiful  flowers),  as  if  they 
had  been  produced  in  his  own  rather  extensive  ground,  which 
was  always  in  fine  order,  and  to  see  which  he  often  invited  his 
neighbouring  fellow-citizens.  In  flower  season,  he  was  rarely 
seen  without  a  sprig  or  two  in  one  of  the  button-holes  of  his 
lengthy  waistcoat,  for  in  warm  weather  he  seldom  wore  a  coat 
except  on  Sundays  and  on  the  Fourth  of  July,  when  he  ap 
peared  in  a  well-kept,  fresh-looking  garment  of  bottle-green 
with  large  yellow  buttons,  a  very  long  body,  and  a  broad,  short 
skirt. 

His  wife,  Martha,  was  a  plump,  notable,  quiet,  pleasant- 
faced  woman,  aged  about  fifty-five,  but  very  old-fashioned  in 
looks  and  ideas.  During  the  morning,  when  she  assisted  her 
servant  girl,  Mrs.  Jones  wore  a  calico  short  gown,  a  stuff 
petticoat,  and  a  check-apron,  with  a  close  muslin  cap — in  the 
afternoon  her  costume  was  a  calico  long  gown,  a  white  linen 
apron,  and  a  thinner  muslin  cap  with  brown  ribbon ;  and  on 
Sundays  a  silk  gown,  a  clear  muslin  apron,  and  a  still  thinner 
and  much  larger  cap  trimmed  with  gray  ribbon.  Everything 
about  them  had  an  air  of  homely  comfort,  and  they  lived 
plainly  and  substantially.  Peter  brought  home  every  morning 
on  his  arm  an  amply-filled  market  basket;  but  on  Sundays 
their  girl  was  always  seen,  before  church  time,  carrying  to  the 
baker's  a  waiter  containing  a  large  dish  that  held  a  piece  of 
meat  mounted  on  a  trivet  with  abundance  of  potatoes  around 
and  beneath,  and  also  a  huge  pudding  in  a  tin  pan. 

Peter  Jones,  who  proportioned  all  his  expenses  so  as  to  keep 
an  even  balance,  allowed  himself  and  his  wife  to  go  once  in 
the  season  to  the  theatre,  and  that  was  on  the  anniversary  of 
their  wedding,  an  event  of  which  he  informed  his  neighbours 
he  had  never  found  cause  to  repent.  This  custom  had  been 
commenced  the  first  year  of  their  marriage,  and  continued 
ever  since ;  and  as  their  plays  were  few  and  far  between,  they 
enjoyed  them  with  all  the  zest  of  novices  in  the  amusement. 
To  them  every  actor  was  good,  and  every  play  was  excellent ; 
the  last  being  generally  considered  the  best.  They  were  not 
sufficiently  familiar  with  the  drama  to  be  fastidious  in  their 
taste ;  and  happily  for  them,  they  were  entirely  ignorant  of 
both  the  theory  and  practice  of  criticism.  To  them  a  visit  to 
the  theatre  was  a  great  event  •  and  on  the  preceding  afternoon 
the  neighbours  always  observed  symptoms  of  restlessness  in 
Peter,  and  a  manifest  disinclination  to  settle  himself  to  any- 
25* 


300  PETER  JONES. 

thing.  Before  going  to  bed,  lie  regularly,  on  the  eve  of  this 
important  day,  went  round  to  the  theatre  to  look  at  the  bills 
that  are  displayed  in  the  vestibule  a  night  in  advance ;  being 
too  impatient  to  wait  for  the  announcement  in  the  morning 
papers.  When  the  play-day  actually  came,  he  shut  up  his  shop 
at  noon,  and  they  had  an  earlier  and  better  dinner  than  usual. 
About  three,  Peter  appeared  in  full  dress  with  a  ruffled  shirt 
and  white  cravat,  wandering  up  and  down  the  pavement,  going 
in  and  out  at  the  front-door,  singing,  whistling,  throwing  up 
his  stick  and  catching  it,  stopping  every  one  he  knew,  to  have 
a  talk  with  them  on  theatricals,  and  trying  every  device  to 
while  away  the  intervening  hours.  At  four,  the  tea-table  was 
set,  that  they  might  get  over  the  repast  in  good  time,  and,  as 
JVIrs.  Jones  said,  "  have  it  off  their  minds. " 

The  play-day  was  late  in  the  spring,  and  near  the  close  of 
the  season ;  and  while  the  sun  was  yet  far  above  the  horizon, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jones  issued  from  their  door,  and  walked  off, 
arm-in-arm,  with  that  peculiar  gait  that  people  always  adopt 
when  going  to  the  theatre  :  he  swinging  his  clouded  cane  with 
its  ivory  top  and  buckskin  tassel,  and  she  fanning  herself 
already  with  a  huge  green  fan  with  black  sticks ;  ami  ambling 
along  in  her  best  shoes  and  stockings,  and  her  annual  silk 
gown,  which,  on  this  occasion,  she  always  put  on  new. 

As  they  went  but  once  a  year,  they  determined  on  doing 
the  thing  respectably,  and  on  having  the  best  possible  view  of 
the  stage ;  therefore  they  always  took  seats  in  an  upper  front 
box.  Arriving  so  early,  they  had  ample  time  to  witness  the 
gradual  filling  of  the  house,  and  to  conjecture  who  was  coming 
whenever  a  box  door  was  thrown  open.  To  be  sure,  Peter 
had  frequent  recourse  to  his  thick,  heavy,  but  unerring  silver 
watch,  and  when  he  found  that  it  still  wanted  three  quarters 
of  an  hour  of  the  time  for  the  curtain  to  rise,  his  wife  sagely 
remarked  to  him  that  it  was  better  to  be  even  two  hours  too 
early  than  two  minutes  too  late ;  and  that  they  might  as  well 
get  over  the  time  in  sitting  in  the  play-house  as  in  sitting  at 
home.  Their  faces  always  brightened  exceedingly  when  the 
musicians  first  began  to  emerge  from  the  subterrany  below, 
and  took  their  places  in  the  orchestra.  Mrs.  Jones  pitied 
extremely  those  that  were  seated  with  their  backs  to  the  stage, 
and  amusing  herself  with  counting  the  fiddles,  and  observing 
how  gradually  they  diminished  in  size  from  the  bass  viol 
down;  till  her  husband  explained  to  her  that  they  diminished 
up  rather  than  down,  the  smallest  fiddle  being  held  by  the 


PETER   JONES.  301 

boss  or  foreman  of  the  band.  Great  was  their  joy  (and  par 
ticularly  that  of  Peter),  when  the  increasing  loudness  of  the 
instruments  proclaimed  that  the  overture  was  about  to  finish ; 
when  glimpses  of  feet  appearing  below  the  green  curtain,  de 
noted  that  the  actors  were  taking  their  places  on  the  stage, 
when  the  welcome  tingle  of  the  long-wished-for  bell  turned 
their  eyes  exultingly  to  the  upward  glide  of  the  barrier  that 
had  so  long  interposed  between  them  and  felicity. 

Many  a  listless  and  fastidious  gentleman,  having  satiated 
himself  with  the  theatre  by  the  nightly  use  of  a  season  ticket 
(that  certain  destroyer  of  all  relish  for  dramatic  amusements), 
might  have  envied  in  our  plain  and  simple-minded  mechanic 
the  freshness  of  sensation,  the  unswerving  interest,  and  the 
unqualified  pleasure  with  which  he  regarded  the  wonders  of 
the  histrionic  world. 

To  watch  Peter  Jones  at  his  annual  play  was  as  amusing  as 
to  look  at  the  performance  itself  (and  sometimes  much  more 
so),  such  was  his  earnest  attention,  and  his  vivid  enjoyment  of 
the  whole ;  as  testified  by  the  glee  of  his  laugh,  the  heartiness 
of  his  applause,  and  the  energy  with  which  he  joined  in  an 
encore.  If  it  chanced  to  be  a  tragedy,  he  consoled  his  wife 
in  what  she  called  the  "  forepart  of  her  tears/'  by  reminding 
her  that  it  was  only  a  play ;  but  as  the  pathos  of  the  scene 
increased,  he  always  caught  himself  first  wiping  his  eyes  with 
the  back  of  his  hand;  then  blowing  his  nose,  trumpetwise, 
with  his  clean  bandanna  pocket-handkerchief;  and  then  calling 
himself  a  fool  for  crying.  Like  Addison's  trunk-maker,  he 
frequently  led  the  clap ;  and  on  Peter  Jones's  night  there  was 
certainly  more  applause  than  usual.  The  kindness  of  his 
heart,  however,  would  never  allow  him  to  join  in  a  hiss,  assur 
ing  those  about  him  that  the  actors  and  the  play-writers  always 
did  their  best,  and  that  if  they  failed  it  was  their  misfortune, 
and  not  their  fault. 

That  all  the  old  observances  of  the  theatre  might  be  duly 
observed,  he  failed  not  to  produce  between  the  play  and  farce 
an  ample  supply  of  what  children  denominate  "  goodies,"  as 
a  regale  for  Mrs.  Jones  and  himself;  also  presenting  them  all 
round  to  every  one  within  his  reach ;  and  if  there  were  any 
little  boys  and  girls  in  the  vicinity,  he  always  produced  a 
double  quantity. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jones  always 
stayed  to  the  extreme  last ;  not  quitting  their  seats  till  the 
curtain  had  descended  to  the  very  floor,  and  shut  from  their 


802  PETER   JONES. 

view,  for  another  year,  the  bows  and  curtsies  of  the  actors  at 
the  final  of  the  finale  in  the  concluding  scene  of  the  after 
piece.  Then  our  happy  old  couple  walked  leisurely  home,  and 
had  a  supper  of  cold  meat  and  pickles,  and  roasted  potatoes ; 
and  talked  of  the  play  over  the  supper-table ;  and  also  over 
the  breakfast-table  next  morning;  and  also  to  all  their  acquaint 
ances  for  a  month  or  two  afterwards. 

In  those  days,  when  Peter  Jones  found  the  enjoyment  of 
one  play  sufficient  to  last  him  a  twelvemonth,  the  Philadelphia 
theatre  was  in  its  "  high  and  palmy  state."  There  was  an 
excellent  stock  company,  with  a  continual  succession  of  new 
pieces,  or  judicious  revivals  of  old  ones  of  standard  worth. 
The  starring  system,  as  it  is  called,  did  not  then  prevail.  The 
performers,  having  permanent  engagements,  were  satisfied  to 
do  their  duty  towards  an  audience  with  whose  tastes  they  were 
familiar.  Each  actor  could  play  an  infinite  number  of  parts — 
each  singer  could  sing  an  infinity  of  songs — and  all  considered 
it  a  portion  of  their  business  to  learn  new  characters,  or  new 
music. 

Having  seen  Mr.  Bluster  in  Hamlet,  Pierre,  and  Komeo, 
we  were  not  expected,  after  a  short  interval,  to  crowd  again 
to  the  theatre  to  applaud  Mr.  Fluster  in  Romeo,  Pierre,  and 
Hamlet.  Having  laughed  sufficiently  at  Mr.  Skipabout  in 
Young  Rapid,  Bob  Handy,  and  Rover,  we  were  not  then  re 
quired,  in  the  lapse  of  a  few  weeks,  to  laugh  likewise  at  Mr. 
Tripabout  in  Rover,  Bob  Handy,  and  Young  Rapid.  Also,  if 
we  had  been  properly  enraptured  with  Madam  Dagolini  Dob- 
son  in  Rosina  and  Rosetta,  we  were  not  compelled,  almost 
immediately,  to  re-prepare  our  bravos  and  bravissimas  for 
Madame  Jomellini  Jobson  in  Rosetta  and  Rosina. 

The  list  of  acting  plays  was  not  then  reduced  to  about  five 
comedies,  and  six  tragedies ;  served  out  night  after  night,  not 
in  the  alternate  variety  of  one  of  each  sort  successively,  but 
with  a  course  of  tragedy  for  a  hero  of  the  buskin,  and  a  course 
of  comedy  for  the  fortunate  man  that  was  able  to  personate  a 
lively  gentleman.  Neither  were  the  lovers  of  vocal  harmony 
obliged  to  content  themselves  with  the  perpetual  repetition  of 
four  musical  pieces,  regularly  produced,  "  when  certain  stars 
shot  madly  from  their  spheres"  in  the  brilliant  and  rechercM 
opera-houses  of  Europe  (where  princes  and  kings  pay  for  a 
song  in  diamonds),  to  waste  their  glories  on  yankees,  buckeyes, 
and  tuckahoes,  whose  only  idea  of  pay  is  in  the  inelegant  form 
of  things  called  dollars. 


PETER   JONES.  303 

It  is  true  that  in  those  days  the  machinery  and  decorations 
of  the  Philadelphia  stage,  and  the  costume  of  the  actors,  were 
far  inferior  to  the  materiel  of  the  present  time ;  but  there  was 
always  a  regular  company  of  sterling  excellence,  the  pieces 
were  various  and  well  selected,  and  the  audience  was  satisfied. 

Years  had  passed  on,  and  Peter  and  Martha  Jones  were  still 
"  keeping  the  even  tenor  of  their  way/'  and  enjoying  the  an 
niversary  play  with  all  their  might,  when  a  house  on  the  other 
side  of  the  street  was  taken  by  a  respectable  hair-dresser, 
whose  window  soon  exhibited  all  the  emblems  of  his  profes 
sion,  arranged  with  peculiar  taste,  and  among  them  an  unusual 
assortment  of  wigs  for  both  sexes. 

Now,  if  Mrs.  Jones  had  a  failing  (and  who  is  perfect),  it 
was  in  indulging  a  sort  of  anti-barber  prejudice,  very  unac 
countable,  certainly — but  so  are  most  prejudices.  This  induced 
her  rather  to  discourage  all  demonstrations  of  her  husband's 
usual  disposition  to  make  acquaintance  with  the  new  neigh 
bours,  whom  she  set  down  in  her  own  mind  as  (<  queer  people" 
— a  very  comprehensive  term.  To  be  sure,  Mr.  Dodcomb's 
looks  and  deportment  differed  not  materially  from  those  of 
any  other  hair-dresser;  but  Peter  Jones  could  not  help  agree 
ing  that  the  appearance  of  his  family  were  much  at  variance 
with  the  imputed  virtues  of  the  numerous  beautifying  specifics 
that  were  set  forth  in  his  shop.  For  instance,  notwithstanding 
the  infallibility  of  his  lotions  and  emollients,  and  creams  and 
pastes,  the  face  and  neck  of  Mrs.  Dodcomb  obstinately  per 
sisted  in  remaining  wrinkled,  yellow,  speckled,  arid  spotty. 
And  in  spite  of  Macassar  oil,  and  bear's  oil,  and  other  certain 
promoters  of  luxuriant,  soft,  and  glossy  tresses,  her  locks  con 
tinued  scanty,  stringy,  stiff,  and  disorderly.  By-the-bye, 
though  there  were  "  plenty  more  in  the  shop,"  she  always 
wore  a  comb  whose  teeth  were  "  few  and  far  between," 

Though  Mr.  Dodcomb  professed  to  cut  hair  in  a  style  of 
unrivalled  elegance,  the  hair  of  his  children  was  sheared  to 
the  quick,  their  heads  looking  nearly  as  bald  as  if  shaved  with 
a  razor;  and  this  phrenological  display  was  rather  unbecoming 
to  the  juvenile  Dodcombs,  as  their  ears  were  singularly  promi 
nent  and  donkey-like.  Then  as  to  skin,  the  faces  of  the  boys 
were  sadly  freckled,  and  those  of  the  girls  surprisingly  coarse 
and  rough. 

Mrs.  Jones  came  to  a  conclusion  that  their  new  neighbour 
must  be  a  remarkably  close  man,  and  unwilling  to  waste 
any  of  his  stock  in  trade  upon  his  own  family;  and  Peter 


304  PETER   JONES. 

thought  it  would  be  more  politic  in  Mr.  Dodcomb  to  use  his 
wife  and  children  as  pattern  cards,  exhibiting  on  their  heads 
and  faces  the  success  of  his  commodities ;  which  Mrs.  Jones 
unamiably  suspected  to  be  all  trash  and  trickery,  and  far  infe 
rior  to  plain  soap  and  water. 

Things  were  in  this  state  when  election  day  came ;  and  on 
the  following  morning  Mr.  Dodcomb  came  over  to  look  at  Mr. 
Jones's  newspaper,  and  see  the  returns  of  the  city  and  county; 
complaining  that  ever  since  he  had  lived  in  the  neighbourhood, 
his  own  paper  had  been  shamefully  purloined  from  the  handle 
of  the  door  so  early  as  before  the  shop  was  open.  To  steal  a 
newspaper  appeared  to  honest  Peter  the  very  climax  of  felony, 
for,  as  he  said,  it  was  stealing  a  man's  sense  and  knowledge; 
and,  being  himself  the  earliest  riser  in  the  neighbourhood,  he 
volunteered  to  watch  for  the  offender.  This  he  did  by  rising 
with  the  first  blush  of  dawn,  and  promenading  the  pavement, 
stick  in  hand.  It  was  not  long  before  he  discovered  the  ab 
stractor  in  the  person  of  an  ever-briefless  lawyerling,  belong 
ing  to  the  only  family  in  the  neighbourhood  who  professed 
aristocracy,  and  discountenanced  Peter  Jones.  And  our  indig 
nant  old  hero  saw  "the  young  gentleman  of  rank"  issue 
scarcely  half  dressed  from  his  own  door,  pounce  rapidly  upon 
the  newspaper,  and  carry  it  off.  "  Stop  thief ! — stop  thief  !'J 
was  loudly  vociferated  by  Peter,  who,  brandishing  his  stick, 
made  directly  across  the  street,  and  the  astonished  culprit  im 
mediately  dropped  the  paper,  and  took  refuge  in  his  own  patri 
cian  mansion. 

As  soon  as  the  Dodcomb  house  was  opened,  Peter  Jones 
went  over  with  the  trophy  of  his  success.  Mr.  Dodcomb  was 
profuse  of  thanks,  making  some  remarkably  handsome  speeches 
on  the  occasion,  and  Peter  went  home  and  assured  his  wife 
that,  though  a  barber,  their  new  neighbour  was  a  very  clever 
man  and  well  worth  knowing.  Mrs.  Jones  immediately  saw 
things  in  their  proper  light,  did  not  perceive  that  the  Dodcombs 
were  at  all  queerer  than  other  people,  concluded  that  they  had 
a  right  to  look  as  they  pleased,  and  imputed  their  indifference 
to  hair  and  cosmetics  to  the  probability  that  they  were  surfeited 
with  the  sight  of  both ;  as  confectioners  never  eat  cakes,  and 
shoemakers'  families  are  said  to  go  barefoot. 

The  same  evening,  Mrs.  Jones  accompanied  her  husband  to 
make  a  neighbourly  visit  to  the  Dodcombs,  whom,  to  their 
great  surprise,  they  found  to  be  extremely  au-fait  of  the  the 
atre;  Mr.  Dodcomb  being  barber  to  that  establishment,  and 


PETER  JONES.  805 

his  sister-in-law,  Miss  Sarah  Ann  Flimbrey,  one  of  the  dress 
makers. 

The  progress  of  the  intimacy  between  the  Jones  and  Dod- 
conib  families  now  increased  rapidly,  making  prodigious  strides 
every  day.  By  the  next  week,  which  was  the  beginning  of 
January,  they  had  made  up  a  party  to  go  together  to  the 
theatre  on  New  Year's  night ;  Peter  Jones  having  been  actually 
and  wonderfully  over-persuaded  to  break  through  his  time- 
honoured  custom  of  going  but  once  a  twelvemonth.  The  Dod- 
combs  had  an  irregular  way  of  seeing  the  plays  from  between 
the  scenes,  from  the  flies  over  the  stage,  and  from  all  other 
inconvenient  and  uncomfortable  places  where  they  could  slip 
in  "  by  virtue  of  their  office ;"  but  on  New  Year's  night  they 
always  went  in  form,  taking  a  front  box  up  stairs,  that  their 
children  might  have  an  uninterrupted  view  of  the  whole  show ; 
Mr.  Dodcomb  on  that  evening  employing  a  deputy  to  arrange 
the  heads  of  the  performers. 

Early  on  New  Year's  morning,  Peter  Jones  put  into  the 
hands  of  his  neighbour  two  dollars,  to  pay  for  the  tickets  of 
himself  and  wife ;  and  during  the  remainder  of  the  day  (which, 
fortunately  for  him,  was  at  this  season  a  very  short  one)  he 
had  his  usual  difficulty  in  getting  through  the  time. 

It  was  in  vain  that  the  Joneses  were  dressed  at  an  early  hour 
and  had  their  usual  early  tea.  The  Dodcornbs  (to  whom  the 
theatre  was  no  novelty)  did  not  hurry  with  their  preparations, 
and  on  Peter  going  over  to  see  if  they  were  ready,  he  found 
them  all  in  their  usual  dishabille,  and  their  maid  just  begin 
ning  to  set  the  tea-table.  That  people  (under  any  circum 
stances)  could  be  so  dilatory  with  a  play  in  prospect,  presented 
to  the  mind  of  the  astonished  Peter  a  new  view  of  the  varieties 
of  the  human  species.  But  as  all  things  must  have  an  end, 
so  at  last  had  the  tea-drinking  of  the  Dodcombs ;  and  luckily 
their  toilets  did  not  occupy  much  time,  for  they  only  put 
themselves  in  full  dress  from  their  waist  upward ;  to  the  great 
surprise  of  Mrs.  Jones,  who  was  somewhat  scandalized  at  their 
oldish  shoes  and  dirtyish  stockings. 

To  the  utter  dismay  of  the  Joneses,  the  curtain,  for  the  first 
time  in  their  lives,  was  up  when  they  arrived;  and  to  this 
misfortune  the  Dodcombs  did  not  seem  to  attach  the  least  con 
sequence,  assuring  them  that  in  losing  the  first  scene  of  a  play 
they  lost  nothing. 

The  five  children  were  ranged  in  front,  each  of  the  three 
girls  wearing  a  rose-bud  on  one  side  of  her  closely  trimmed 


306  PETER   JONES. 

head,  which  rose-bud,  as  Mrs.  Jones  afterwards  averred  to  her 
husband,  must  have  been  stuck  there  and  held  in  its  place  by 
some  hocus  pocus,  which  no  one  but  a  play-house  barber  could 
contrive  or  execute.  During  the  progress  of  the  play,  which 
was  a  melo-drama  of  what  is  called  "  thrilling  interest,"  Peter 
Jones,  who  always  himself  paid  the  most  exemplary  attention 
to  the  scene  before  him,  was  annoyed  to  find  that  his  wife  was 
continually  drawn  in  to  talk,  by  the  example  of  Mrs.  Dodcomb 
and  Miss  Flimbrey,  one  of  whom  sat  on  each  side  of  her,  and 
who  both  kept  up  a  running  fire  of  questions,  answers,  and  re 
marks  during  the  whole  of  the  performance — plays,  as  they 
said,  being  mere  drugs  to  them. 

"  How  do  you  like  that  scarlet  and  gold  dress  ?"  said  Mrs. 
Dodcomb. 

"  Oh  !  it's  beautiful !"  replied  Mrs.  Jones,  "  and  he's  a 
beautiful  man  that  wears  it !  What  handsome  legs  he  has  ? — 
and  what  a  white  neck  for  a  man  ! — and  such  fine  curly 
hair—" 

"  You  would  not  say  so,"  said  Mrs.  Dodcomb,  "  if  you  were 
to  see  him  in  day-light  without  his  paint,  and  without  his 
chestnut  wig  (they  have  all  sorts  of  wigs,  even  flax,  tow,  and 
yarn).  His  natural  face  and  hair  are  both  of  the  same  clay- 
colour.  As  to  his  neck,  it's  nothing  when  it  is  not  coated  all 
over  with  whitening — and  then  his  stage  legs  are  always 
padded." 

"Mr.  Jones,  you  are  a  judge  of  those  things — what  do  you 
suppose  that  man's  dress  is  made  of?"  asked  Mr.  Dodcomb. 

"  Scarlet  cloth  and  gold  lace." 

"  Fudge !  it's  only  red  flannel,  trimmed  with  copper  binding." 

'I'm  sorry  to  hear  that,"  observed  Mrs.  Jones — and  during 
the  remainder  of  the  piece  she  designated  him  as  "  the  man  in 
the  flannel  jacket." 

u  That's  a  pretty  hat  of  his  sweetheart's,"  she  remarked, 
"  that  gauze  hat  with  the  long  white  feathers — how  light  and 
airy  it  looks  !" 

Miss  Flimbrey  now  giggled.  "  I  made  it  myself,  this  morn 
ing,"  said  she,  "it's  only  thin  catgut,  with  nothing  at  all  out 
side — but  at  a  distance,  it  certainly  may  be  taken  for  transpa 
rent  gauze." 

From  this  time  Mrs.  Jones  distinguished  the  actress  as  "  the 
woman  with  the  catgut  hat." 

The  hero  of  the  piece  appeared  in  a  new  and  magnificent 
dress;  which  was  very  much  applauded,  as  new  and  showy. 


PETER   JONES.  307 

dresses  frequently  are.  It  was  a  purple  velvet,  decorated  pro 
fusely  with  gold  ornaments,  somewhat  resembling  rows  of  very 
large  buttons ;  each  button  being  raised  or  relieved  in  the 
centre,  and  having  a  flat  rim  round  the  edge.  They  went  up 
all  the  seams  of  the  back,  and  down  the  front  of  the  jacket, 
and  round  the  cuffs ;  and,  being  very  bright  and  very  close 
together,  the  effect  was  rich  and  unique.  Also,  one  of  them 
fastened  the  plume  and  looped  up  the  hat,  and  two  others 
glittered  in  the  rosettes  of  the  shoes. 

"  Oh  !  how  grand  ! — how  very  grand  !"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Jones.  "  This  dress  beats  all  the  others  I" 

"  Upon  my  word,  that  trimming  is  fine/'  said  Peter. 

"  Ain't  they  big  gold  buttons,  put  very  close  together  ?" 
asked  his  wife. 

"  Why,  no,"  replied  Peter.  "  They  ain't  buttons  at  all — 
not  one  of  them.  Surely  I  ought  to  know  buttons,  when  they 
are  buttons.  I  can't  make  out  these  things  exactly.  But 
they're  handsome,  however." 

Mr.  Dodcomb  now  began  to  laugh.  "I'll  tell  you,"  said 
he,  "  the  history  of  these  new-fashioned  ornaments.  It  was 
a  bright  idea  of  the  actor's  own  when  he  was  planning  his 
new  dress.  He  went  to  one  of  the  great  hardware  stores  in 
Market  Street,  and  bought  I  don't  know  how  many  gross  of 
those  shining  covers  that  are  put  over  the  screw-holes  of  bed 
steads  to  hide  the  screws,  and  that  are  fastened  on  by  a  small 
thing  at  the  top  of  each,  like  a  loop,  having  a  hole  for  a  little 
screw  to  fix  them  tight  in  their  places.  And  these  holes  in 
the  loops  were  just  convenient  for  the  needle  to  go  through 
when  they  were  sewed  on  to  the  dress.  So  you  see  what  a 
good  show  they  make  now." 

"  Of  all  contrivances  !"  exclaimed  Peter.  "  To  think  that 
bed-screw  covers  should  trim  so  well !" 

"  Wonders  will  never  cease  !"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Jones.  And 
whenever  the  actor  reappeared,  she  jogged  her  husband,  and 
reminded  him  that  "  here  came  the  man  all  over  bed-screws." 

11  What  beautiful  lace  cuffs  and  collars  all  those  gentlemen 
have,  that  are  gallanting  the  ladies  to  the  feast  1"  said  Mrs. 
Jones. 

"  Cut  paper,  my  dear — only  cut  paper,"  replied  Mrs.  Dod 
comb.  "  Sally  Flimbrey  cuts  them  out  herself — don't  you. 
Sally?" 

Miss  Flimbrey  (who  was  not  proud),  nodded  in  the  affirma 
tive — "You  would  never  guess/'  said  she;  "my  dear  Mrs. 
26 


308  PETER   JONES. 

Jones,  what  odd  contrivances  they  have — did  you  observe  the 
milk-maid's  pail  in  the  cottage  scene  ?" 

"  Yes — it  was  full  to  the  brim  of  fine  frothy  new  milk — I 
should  like  to  have  taken  a  drink  of  it." 

"  You  would  have  found  it  pretty  hard  to  swallow,  for  it 
was  only  cotton  wadding/'  said  Miss  Flimbrey. 

"  Well  now  !  if  ever  I  heard  the  beat  of  that !"  interjected 
Mrs.  Jones. 

"  How  do  you  like  the  thunder  and  lightning  ?"  said  Mr. 
Dodcomb  to  Mr.  Jones. 

"  It's  fine/'  replied  Peter,  "  and  very  natural/' 

"I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,"  replied  Dodcomb,  "the  lightning 
is  made  by  sprinkling  a  handful  of  powdered  rosin  into  a  ladle 
heated  over  a  pan  of  charcoal.  A  man  stands  between  the 
scenes  and  does  it  whenever  a  flash  is  wanted.  The  thunder 
is  produced  by  a  pair  of  cannon  balls  joined  across  a  bar  to 
which  is  fixed  a  long  wooden  handle  like  the  tongue  of  a 
child's  basket  wagon,  and  by  this  the  balls  are  pushed  and 
hauled  about  the  floor  behind  the  back  scene." 

"  Astonishing  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Jones.  ll  But  the  rattling 
of  the  rain — that  sounds  just  as  if  it  was  real." 

"  The  rain  !"  answered  Mr.  Dodcomb.  "  Oh,  the  rain  is 
done  by  a  tall  wooden  case,  something  on  the  plan  of  a  great 
hour  glass,  lined  with  tin  and  filled  half  full  with  small  shot, 
which  when  the  case  is  set  on  end,  dribbles  gradually  down 
and  rattles  as  it  falls." 

"Dear  me,"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Jones,  "what  a  wonderful 
thing  is  knowledge  of  the  stage  !  I  never  shall  see  a  thunder- 
gust  again  (at  the  playhouse,  I  mean)  without  thinking  all  the 
time  of  rosin  and  ladles,  and  cannon  balls  with  long  handles, 
and  the  dribbling  of  shot." 

"  Then  for  snow,"  pursued  Mr.  Dodcomb,  "  they  snip  up 
•white  paper  into  shreds,  and  carry  it  up  to  the  flies  or  beams 
and  rafters  above  the  stage,  and  scatter  it  down  by  handfuls." 

"  You  don't  say  so  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Jones — 

"  Well — now  the  storm  is  over,"  said  Mrs.  Dodcomb,  "  and 
here  is  a  castle  scene  by  moonlight. 

"  And  a  very  pretty  moon  it  is,"  observed  Mrs.  Jones,  "  all 
solemn  and  natural." 

"  Not  very  solemn  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Dodcomb,  "  as  I  know 
it  to  be  a  bit  of  oiled  linen  let  into  a  round  hole  in  the  back 
scene,  with  a  candle  put  behind  it." 

"  Wonders  will  never  cease !"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Jones.    "  And 


PETER   JONES.  309 

there's  an  owl  sitting  up  in  that  old  tumble-down  tower — how 
natural  he  blinks  I" 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Dodcomb,  "his  eyes  are  two  doors,  with  a 
string  to  each ;  and  a  man  climbs  up  behind,  and  keeps  jerking 
the  doors  open  and  letting  them  shut  again — that's  the  way 
to  make  an  owl  blink.  But  here  comes  the  bleeding  ghost, 
that  wanders  about  the  ruins  by  moonlight." 

The  children  all  drew  back  a  little,  and  looked  somewhat 
frightened ;  it  happening  to  be  the  first  ghost  they  had  ever 
seen. 

"  Dear  me  !"  said  Mrs.  Jones,  drawing  her  shawl  closely 
round  her,  "what  an  awful  sight  a  ghost  is,  even  when  we 
know  it's  only  a  play-actor !  This  one  seem  to  have  no  regu 
lar  clothes,  but  only  those  white  fly-away  things — how  deadly 
pale  it  is — and  just  look  at  the  blood,  how  it  keeps  streaming 
down  all  the  time  from  that  great  gash  in  the  breast !" 

"  As  to  the  paleness,"  explained  Miss  Flimbrey,  "  it's  only 
that  the  face  is  powdered  thick  all  over  with  flour ;  and  as  to 
what  looks  to  you  like  blood,  it's  nothing  but  red  ribbon, 
gathered  a  little  full  at  the  top  where  the  wound  is,  and  the 
ends  left  long  to  flow  down  the  white  drapery." 

"Why  this  beats  all  the  rest!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Jones, 
"  Well — I  never  shall  see  a  bloody  ghost  again  without  think 
ing  of  meal  and  red  ribbon." 

Previous  to  the  last  act  of  the  melo-drama,  a  man  belonging 
to  the  theatre  came  and  called  Mr.  Dodcomb  out  of  the  box 
to  ask  him  if  he  would  be  so  obliging  as  to  go  on  the  stage 
for  a  senator  in  the  trial  scene,  one  of  the  big  boys  that  usu 
ally  assisted  in  making  out  this  august  assemblage  having 
unexpectedly  run  away  and  gone  to  sea.  Mr.  Dodcomb  (who 
was  not  entirely  unused  to  lending  himself  to  similar  emergen 
cies)  kindly  consented  j  and,  after  returning  to  whisper  the 
circumstance  to  his  wife,  he  slipped  out  unobserved  by  the  rest 
of  the  party.  When  the  drop-curtain  again  rose,  eight  or  ten 
senators,  with  venerable  white  wigs,  were  seen  sitting  in  a  sort 
of  pews,  and  wearing  pink  robes  and  ermine  capes ;  which  er 
mine,  according  to  Miss  Flirnbury,  was  only  white  paper  spot 
ted  over  with  large  regular  splotches  of  ink  at  equal  distances. 

Presently,  on  recognising  their  beloved  parent  among  the 
conscript  fathers,  the  Dodcomb  children  became  rather  too 
audible  in  expressing  their  delight,  exclaiming  :  "  Oh  !  there's 
pappy.  Only  see  pappy  on  the  stage.  Don't  pappy  look 
funny  ?" 


310  PFTER   JONES. 

The  pit-people  looked  up,  and  the  box-people  looked  round, 
and  Mrs.  Dodcomb  tried  to  silence  the  children  by  threats  of 
making  them  go  home.  Peter  Jones  quieted  them  directly 
by  stopping  their  mouths  with  cakes  from  his  well-stored 
pocket ;  thus  anticipating  the  treat  he  had  provided  for  them 
as  a  regale  between  the  play  and  after-piece. 

The  scene  over,  Mr.  Dodcomb  speedily  got  rid  of  his  sena 
torial  costume,  and  returned  to  the  box  in  propria  persona, 
where  he  was  loudly  greeted  by  his  children,  each  insisting 
on  being  c<  the  one  that  first  found  out  their  pappy  among  the 
men  in  wigs  and  gowns." 

"  Well  if  ever  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Jones.  "  There's  no 
knowing  what  good's  before  us  !  Little  did  we  expect  when 
we  came  here  to-night,  that  we  should  be  sitting  here  in  the 
same  box  with  anybody  that  ever  acted  on  the  stage.  I  am 
so  glad/' 

The  after-piece  was  the  Forty  Thieves,  which  Peter  and 
Mrs.  Jones  had  never  seen  before,  and  which  had  extraordinary 
charms  for  the  old  man,  who  in  his  youth  had  been  well  versed 
in  the  Arabian  Tales.  Giving  himself  up,  as  he  always  did, 
to  the  illusion  of  the  scene,  he  could  well  have  dispensed  with 
the  explanations  of  the  Dodcombs,  who  began  by  informing 
Mrs.  Jones  that  the  fairy  Ardanelle,  though  in  her  shell-formed 
car  she  seemed  to  glide  through  the  water,  was  in  reality 
pulled  along  by  concealed  men  with  concealed  ropes. 

When  the  equestrian  robbers  appeared  one  by  one  galloping 
across  the  distant  mountains,  and  Mrs.  Jones  had  carefully 
counted  them  all  to  ascertain  that  there  was  the  full  comple 
ment  of  exactly  forty,  Miss  Flimbrey  laughed,  aud  assured  her 
that  in  reality  there  were  only  three,  one  mounted  on  a  black, 
one  on  a  bay,  and  one  on  a  white  horse,  but  they  passed  round 
and  appeared  again,  till  the  precise  number  was  accomplished. 
t(  And  the  same  thing,"  said  she,  "is  always  done  when  an 
army  marches  across  the  stage,  so  that  a  few  soldiers  are  made 
to  seem  like  a  great  many." 

"You  perceive,  Mrs.  Jones,"  said  Mr.  Dobcomb,  "these 
robbers  that  ride  over  the  distant  mountains  are  not  the  real 
men ;  but  both  man  and  horse  is  nothing  more  than  a  flat  thin 
piece  of  wood  painted  and  cut  out." 

On  Peter  remarking  that  there  was  certainly  a  look  of  life 
or  reality  in  the  near  leg  of  each  rider  as  it  was  thrown  over 
the  saddle,  Mr.  Dodcomb  explained  that  each  of  these  eques 
trian  figures  was  carried  by  a  man  concealed  behind,  and  that 


PETER  JONES.  311 

one  arm  of  the  man  was  thrust  through  an  aperture  at  the  top 
of  the  painted  saddle;  the  arm  that  hung  over  so  as  to  per 
sonate  a  leg,  being  dressed  in  a  Turkish  trowser,  with  a  boot 
drawn  on  the  hand. 

"  Do  you  mean,"  said  Peter,  "  that  these  men  run  along 
the  ridge,  each  carrying  a  horse  under  his  arm  V 

"Exactly  so/7  replied  Dodcomb,  "the  horse  and  rider  of 
painted  board  being  so  arranged  as  to  hide  the  carrier." 

"Well — I  never  did  hear  anything  so  queer/;  said  Mrs. 
Jones,  "  I  wonder  how  they  can  keep  their  countenances.  But, 
there  are  so  many  queer  things  about  play-acting.  Dear  me  ! 
what  a  pug-nose  that  cobbler  has  !  Let  me  look  at  the  bill 
and  see  who  he  is — why  I  saw  the  same  man  in  the  play,  and 
his  nose  was  long  and  straight." 

"  Oh  !  when  he  wants  a  snub  nose,"  replied  Miss  Flimbrey, 
"  he  ties  up  the  end  with  a  single  horse-hair  fastened  round 
his  forehead,  and  the  horse  hair  is  too  fine  to  be  seen  by  the 
audience." 

During  the  scene  in  which  Morgiana  destroys  the  thieves, 
one  at  a  time,  by  pouring  a  few  drops  of  the  magic  liquid  into 
the  jars  in  which  they  are  hidden,  Mrs.  Jones  found  out  of 
her  own  accord  that  the  jars  were  only  flat  pieces  of  painted 
board ;  but  Mrs.  Dodcomb  made  her  observe  that  as  each  of 
the  dying  bandits  uttered  distinctly  his  own  separate  groan, 
the  sound  was  in  reality  produced  from  the  orchestra,  by  he 
of  the  bass  viol  giving  his  bow  a  hard  scrub  across  the  instru 
ment. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Jones  on  her  way  home,  "now  that  my 
eyes  are  opened,  I  must  say  there  is  a  great  deal  of  deception 
in  plays." 

"  To  be  sure  there  is,"  replied  Peter,  "  and  that  we  knew 
all  along,  or  might  have  known  if  we  had  thought  about  it ; 
but  people  that  go  to  the  theatre  only  once  a  year  are  quite 
willing  to  take  things  as  they  see  them ;  and  they  have  pleasure 
enough  in  the  play  itself  and  in  what  passes  before  their  eyes, 
without  wondering  or  caring  about  the  contrivances  behind 
the  scenes.  I  never  supposed  their  finery  to  be  real,  or  their 
handsome  looks  either;  but  that  was  none  of  our  business,  as 
long  as  they  appeared  well  to  us — I  said  nothing  to  you,  for  I 
know  if  you  were  once  put  on  the  scent,  you  would  be  the 
whole  time  trying  to  find  out  their  shams  and  trickeries." 

Next  morning,  while  talking  over  the  play  in  Peter's  shop, 
Mr.  Dodcomb  kindly  volunteered  to  procure  for  him  and  Mrs. 
26* 


312  PETER  JONES, 

Jones,  bones  or  orders  from  the  managers  or  chief  performers, 
that  would  insure  a  gratuitous  admission.  Peter,  much  as 
he  liked  plays,  demurred  awhile  about  availing  himself  of  this 
neighbourly  offer,  but  the  urgency  of  his  wife  prevailed  on 
him  to  consent ;  and  a  day  or  two  after,  Mr.  Dodcomb  put  into 
his  hand  two  circular  pieces  of  lettered  ivory,  which  on  giving 
them  to  the  doorkeeper  admitted  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jones  to  the 
house  for  that  evening ;  and  thus,  for  the  first  time  in  their 
lives,  they  found  themselves  at  the  theatre  twice  in  one  week. 

In  this  manner  they  went  again  and  again ;  and  a  visit  to 
the  theatre  soon  ceased  to  be  an  event.  It  was  no  longer 
eagerly  anticipated,  and  minutely  remembered.  The  sight  of 
one  play  almost  effaced  the  recollection  of  another.  The  edge 
of  novelty  was  fast  wearing  off,  and  the  sense  of  enjoyment 
becoming  blunted  in  proportion.  Weariness  crept  upon  them 
with  satiety,  and  they  sometimes  even  went  home  before  the 
concluding  scene  of  the  farce,  and  at  last  they  did  not  even 
stay  to  see  the  first.  Often  they  caught  themselves  nodding 
shamefully  during  the  most  moral  and  instructive  dialogues 
of  sentimental  comedy,  and  they  actually  slept  a  duett  through 
the  four  first  acts  of  the  Gamester,  in  which,  however,  they 
were  accompanied  by  a  large  portion  of  the  audience. 

Their  friends  the  Dodcornbs  escorted  them  one  afternoon 
all  through  the  interior  of  the  theatre,  so  that  they  obtained 
a  full  comprehension  of  the  whole  paraphernalia,  with  all  its 
illusions  and  realities  '}  and  of  this  knowledge  Mrs.  Jones  made 
ample  use  in  her  comments  at  night  during  the  performance. 

As  Peter's  enjoyment  of  the  drama  grew  less,  he  became 
more  fastidious,  particularly  as  to  the  ways  and  means  that 
were  employed  to  produce  effect.  He  now  saw  the  ridicule 
of  the  armies  of  the  rival  roses  being  represented  by  half  a 
dozen  men,  who  when  they  belonged  to  King  Richard  were 
distinguished  by  white  stockings,  but  clapped  on  red  ones 
when,  in  the  next  scene,  they  personated  the  forces  of  Rich 
mond.  The  theatrical  vision  of  our  hero  being  cleared  and 
refined,  he  ceased  to  perceive  a  moving  forest  when  the  pro 
gress  of  Birnam  Wood  to  Dunsinane  was  represented  by  six 
or  seven  men  in  plaid  kilts,  each  holding  up  before  his  face, 
fan-wise,  a  little  bunch  of  withered  pine  twigs.  He  now  dis 
covered  that  the  proper  place  for  the  ghost  of  Banquo  was  a 
seat  at  the  table  of  his  murderer,  in  the  midst  of  the  company, 
and  not  on  a  modern  parlour  chair,  set  conspicuously  by  itself 
near  one  of  the  stage  doors.  He  also  perceived  that  in  Anto- 


PETER  JONES,  813 

ny's  oration  over  Caesar,  the  Koman  populace  was  illy  repre 
sented  by  one  boyish-looking,  smooth-faced  young  man  (ple 
beians  must  have  been  strangely  scarce)  who  at  the  words, 
"  Good  friends,  sweet  friends,  let  me  not  stir  you  up  to  sud 
den  mutiny" — always  made  sundry  futile  attempts  to  look 
mutinous.  * 

To  conclude — in  the  course  of  that  season  and  the  next, 
Peter  Jones  and  his  wife  by  dint  of  bones  and  Dodcombs,  be 
came  so  familiar  with  theatricals  that  they  ceased  entirely  to 
enjoy  them;  and  it  finally  became  a  sort  of  task  to  go,  and  a 
greater  task  to  sit  through  the  play. 

Mrs.  Jones  thought  that  the  old  actors  had  all  fallen  off, 
and  that  the  new  ones  were  not  so  good  as  the  old  ones ;  but 
her  more  sagacious  husband  laid  the  fault  to  the  right  cause, 
which  was,  "  that  plays  were  now  a  drug  to  them." 

The  Dodcombs  removed  to  New  York,  and  the  Joneses 
gave  up  without  regret  the  facilities  of  free  admission  to  the 
theatre.  After  a  lapse  of  two  years,  they  determined  to  resume 
their  old  and  long-tested  custom  of  seeing  one  single  play  at 
the  close  of  the  season,  and  on  the  anniversary  of  their  wed 
ding.  But  the  charm  was  broken,  the  illusion  was  destroyed ; 
the  keenness  of  their  relish  was  palled  by  satiety,  and  could 
revive  no  more. 

In  a  less  humble  sphere  of  life,  and  in  circumstances  of  far 
greater  importance  than  the  play-going  of  Peter  Jones,  how 
often  is  the  long-cherished  enjoyment  of  a  temperate  pleasure 
destroyed  for  ever  by  a  short  period  of  over-indulgence  ! 

*  All  these  things  the  author  has  seen. 


THE    OLD   FARM-HOUSE. 


"Her  charm  around,  the  enchantress  Memory  throws." — ROGERS. 

EDWARD  LINDSAY  had  recently  returned  from  Europe, 
where  a  long  series  of  years  passed  in  the  successful  prosecu 
tion  of  a  lucrative  mercantile  business,  had  gained  for  him  an 
independence  that  in  his  own  country  would  be  considered 
wealth.  Continuing  in  heart  and  soul  an  American,  it  was 
only  in  the  land  of  his  birth,  that  he  could  resolve  to  settle 
himself,  and  enjoy  the  fruits  of  well-directed  enterprise,  and 
almost  uninterrupted  good  fortune. 

Early  impressions  are  lasting  j  and  among  the  images  that 
frequently  recurred  to  the  memory  of  our  hero,  were  those  of 
a  certain  old  farm-house  in  the  interior  of  Pennsylvania,  and 
its  kind  and  simple-hearted  inhabitants.  The  farmer,  whose 
name  was  Abraham  Milliard,  had  been  in  the  practice  of  occa 
sionally  bringing  to  Philadelphia  a  wagon-load  of  excellent 
marketing,  and  stopping  with  his  team  at  the  doors  of  several 
genteel  families,  his  unfailing  customers.  It  was  thus  that 
Sir.  and  Mrs.  Lindsay  obtained  a  knowledge  of  him,  which 
eventually  induced  them  to  place  in  his  house,  as  a  boarder, 
their  only  surviving  child  Edward  :  that  during  the  summer 
season,  the  boy,  whose  constitution  was  naturally  delicate, 
might  have  a  chance  of  acquiring  confirmed  health  and  hardi 
hood,  united  with  habits  of  self-dependence  j  it  being  clearly 
understood  by  all  parties,  that  young  Lindsay  was  to  be  treated, 
in  every  respect,  like  the  farmer's  own  children.  The  experi 
ment  succeeded  :  and  it  was  at  Oakland  Farm  that  Edward 
Lindsay's  summers  were  chiefly  spent  from  the  age  of  eight 
to  eighteen,  at  which  time  he  was  sent  to  Bordeaux,  and  placed 
in  the  counting-house  of  his  maternal  uncle.  And  twice  when 

(314) 


THE   OLD   FARM-HOUSE.  315 

Philadelphia  was  visited  by  the  malignant  fever  which  in  former 
years  spread  such  terror  through  the  city,  and  whose  ravages 
were  only  checked  by  the  return  of  cold  weather,  the  anxious 
parents  of  our  hero  made  him  stay  in  the  country  till  the 
winter  had  fairly  set  in. 

During  his  long  residence  in  Europe,  Edward  Lindsay  was 
so  unfortunate  as  to  lose  both  father  and  mother,  and,  there 
fore,  his  arrival  in  his  native  town  was  accompanied  by  many 
painful  feelings.  The  bustle  of  the  city,  and  the  company 
into  which  the  hospitality  of  his  friends  endeavoured  to  draw 
him,  were  not  in  accordance  with  his  present  state  of  mind, 
and  he  imagined  that  nothing  would  be  more  soothing  to  him 
than  a  visit  to  the  country,  and  particularly  to  the  place  where 
so  much  of  his  boyhood  had  been  passed.  While  his  mother 
lived,  she  had  frequently  sent  him  tidings  of  his  old  friends 
at  Oakland  Farm,  none  of  whom  were  letter  writers;  but 
since  her  death,  they  seemed  to  be  lost  sight  of,  and  it  was 
now  many  years  since  Edward  had  heard  anything  of  them. 

Oakland  Farm  was  not  on  a  public  road,  and  it  was  some 
miles  remote  from  the  route  of  any  public  conveyance.  As 
the  season  was  the  close  of  spring,  and  the  weather  delightful, 
Lindsay  determined  to  go  thither  on  a  fine  horse  that  he  had 
recently  purchased ;  taking  with  him  only  a  small  valise,  it 
being  his  intention  to  remain  there  but  a  few  days. 

He  set  out  in  the  afternoon,  and  passed  the  night  at  a  tavern 
about  ten  miles  from  the  city,  formerly  known  as  the  Black 
Bear,  but  now  dignified  with  the  title  of  the  Pennsylvania 
Hotel,  expressed  in  immense  gilt  letters  on  a  blue  board  above 
the  door.  Lindsay  felt  something  like  regret  at  the  ejectment 
of  his  old  acquaintance  Bruin,  who,  proclaiming  "  Entertain 
ment  for  Man  and  Horse,"  had  swung  so  many  years  on  a 
lofty  sign-post  under  the  shade  of  a  great  buttonwood  tree, 
now  cut  down  to  make  room  for  four  slender  Lombardy  pop 
lars,  which,  though  out  of  favour  in  the  city,  had  become 
fashionable  in  the  country. 

We  will  pass  over  many  other  changes  which  our  hero  ob 
served  about  the  new-modelled  inn,  and  accompany  him  as  he 
pursued  his  way  along  the  road  which  had  been  so  familiar 
to  him  in  his  early  youth,  and  which,  though  it  retained  many 
of  its  original  features,  had  partaken  greatly  of  the  all-pervad 
ing  spirit  of  improvement.  The  hills  were  still  there.  The 
beautiful  creek,  which  in  England  would  have  been  termed  a 
river,  meandered  everywhere  just  as  before,  wide,  clear,  and 


316  THE   OLD   FARM-HOUSE. 

deep ;  but  its  rude  log  bridges  had  now  given  place  to  sub 
stantial  structures  of  masonry  and  wood-work,  and  he  missed 
several  well-known  tracts  of  forest-land,  of  which  the  very 
stumps  had  long  since  been  dislodged. 

His  eye,  for  years  accustomed  to  the  small  farms  and  minia 
ture  enclosures  of  Europe,  now  dwelt  with  delight  on  immense 
fields  of  grain  or  clover,  each  of  them  covering  a  whole  hill, 
and  frequently  of  such  extent  that  a  single  glance  could  not 
take  in  their  limits.  He  saw  vast  orchards  that  seemed 
to  contain  a  thousand  trees,  now  white  with  blossoms  that, 
scattered  by  the  slightest  breeze,  fell  around  them  like  showers 
of  scented  snow.  He  missed,  it  is  true,  the  hawthorn  hedges 
of  England ;  those  beautiful  walls  of  verdure,  whose  only  fault 
is  that  their  impervious  foliage  shuts  out  from  view  the  fields 
they  enclose ;  while  the  open  fences  of  America  allow  the 
stranger  to  regale  his  eye,  and  satisfy  his  curiosity  with  a  free 
prospect  of  the  country  through  which  he  is  travelling. 

Oakland  Farm,  as  we  have  said,  lay  some  miles  from  the 
great  highway,  and  Lindsay  was  glad  to  find  with  how  much 
ease  he  recollected  the  turnings  and  windings  of  the  by-roads. 
It  even  gave  him  pleasure  to  recognise  a  glen  at  the  bottom 
of  a  ravine  thickly  shaded  with  crooked  and  moss-grown  trees, 
where  half  a  century  ago  a  woman  had  been  guilty  of  infanti 
cide,  and  whose  subsequent  execution  at  the  county  town  is 
talked  of  still ;  it  being  apparently  as  well  remembered  as  an 
event  of  yesterday.  The  dogwood  and  the  wild  grape  vine 
still  canopied  the  fatal  spot,  for  the  thicket  had  never  been 
cleared  away,  nor  the  ground  cultivated.  A  little  beyond,  the 
road  lay  through  a  dark  piece  of  woods  that  countrywomen, 
returning  late  from  the  store,  were  afraid  to  ride  through  after 
night-fall ;  as  their  horses  always  started  and  trembled  and 
laid  back  their  ears  at  the  appearance  of  a  mysterious  white 
colt,  which  was  frequently  seen  gamboling  among  the  trees, 
and  which  no  sensible  people  believed  to  be  a  real  or  living 
colt,  as  one  horse  is  never  frightened  at  the  sight  of  another. 
Shortly  after,  our  traveller  stopped  for  a  few  moments  to  gazo 
at  the  transformation  of  a  building  on  the  verge  of  a  creek. 
He  had  remembered  it  as  a  large  old  house  chequered  with  bricks 
alternately  blackish  and  reddish,  and  having  dark  red  window- 
shutters  with  holes  cut  in  them  to  admit  the  light ,  some  of 
the  apertures  being  in  the  form  of  hearts,  others  in  the  shape 
of  crescents.  There  had  been  a  red  porch,  and  a  red  front 
door  which  for  years  had  the  inconvenient  property  of  burst- 


THE   OLD   FARM-HOUSE.  317 

ing  open  in  the  dead  of  night ;  at  which  time,  a  noise  was 
always  heard  as  of  the  hoofs  of  a  calf  trotting  in  the  dark, 
about  the  rooms  up  stairs.  This  calf  was  finally  spoken  to  by 
a  very  courageous  stranger,  who  inquired  its  name.  The  calf 
made  not  a  word  of  answer,  but  from  that  night  was  heard  no 
more.  This  house,  being  now  painted  yellow,  and  the  red 
shutters  removed,  had  been  altered  into  an  establishment  for 
carding  and  spinning  wool,  as  was  evident  by  surrounding 
indications,  and  by  the  noise  of  the  machinery,  which  could 
be  heard  plainly  as  far  as  the  road.  Lindsay  began  to  fear 
that  he  should  never  again  see  Polly  Nichols,  a  tall,  gaunt, 
hard-featured  spinning  girl,  whose  untiring  strength  and  im- 
moveable  countenance,  as  she  ran  all  day  at  the  "  big  wheel/' 
had  often  amazed  him,  and  whom  Mrs.  Hilliard  considered  as 
the  princess  of  wool-spinners.  His  conscience  reproached  him 
with  having  one  day,  while  she  was  at  dinner,  mischievously 
stolen  the  wheel-finger  of  the  said  Polly  Nichols,  and  hidden 
it  in  the  dough  trough,  thereby  occasioning  a  long  search  to 
the  industrious  damsel,  and  the  loss  of  an  hour's  spinning  to 
Mrs.  Hilliard. 

He  next  came  to  the  old  well-known  meeting-house,  em 
bosomed  in  large  elms  of  aboriginal  growth.  He  saw  it  as  in 
former  days,  with  its  long  range  of  stalls  for  the  horses  of  the 
congregation,  and  its  square  horse-blocks  at  the  gate  with  steps 
ascending  on  all  their  four  sides,  to  which  the  country  beaux 
gallantly  led  up  the  steeds  of  the  country  belles.  Just  be 
yond  the  meeting-house,  he  looked  in  vain  for  a  well-known 
little  brook,  distinguished  of  old  as  "  Blue  Woman's  Run," 
and  which  had  formerly  crossed  the  road,  murmuring  over  its 
bed  of  pebbles.  It  had  derived  this  cognomen  from  the  sin 
gular  apparition  of  a  woman  in  a  blue  gown,  with  a  pail  of 
water  on  her  head,  which  had  on  several  Sundays  boldly  ap 
peared  even  in  the  brightness  of  the  noon-day  sun,  and  was 
seen  walking  fearlessly  among  the  "meeting  folks/'  and  their 
horses,  as  they  stopped  to  let  them  drink  at  the  brook ;  com 
ing  no  one  knew  from  whence,  and  going  no  one  knew  where ; 
but  appearing  and  disappearing  in  the  midst  of  them.  But 
the  streamlet  was  no  longer  there,  diverted  perhaps  to  some 
other  channel,  and  the  hollow  of  its  bed  was  filled  up  and 
made  level  with  the  road. 

About  two  miles  further,  our  hero  looked  out  for  a  waste 
field  at  some  distance  from  the  road,  and  distinguished  by  an 
antique  persimmon  tree  of  unusual  size.  This  field  he  had 


318  THE   OLD   FARM-HOUSE. 

always  known  of  a  wild  and  desolate  aspect,  bristled  with  the 
tall  stalks  of  the  mullein.  Here,  according  to  tradition,  had 
once  lived  a  family  of  free  negroes,  probably  runaways  from 
the  south.  They  had  lost  their  children  by  an  epidemic, 
buried  them  at  the  foot  of  the  persimmon  tree,  and  soon  after 
quitted  the  neighbourhood.  All  vestiges  of  their  hut  had 
vanished  long  before  Edward  Lindsay  had  known  the  place, 
but  the  graves  of  the  children  might  have  been  traced  under 
the  grass  and  weeds.  The  deserted  field  had  the  reputation 
of  being  haunted,  because  whoever  had  the  temerity  to  cross 
it,  even  in  broad  daylight,  never  failed,  that  is  if  they  had 
faith,  to  see  the  faces  of  two  little  black  boys  looking  out  from 
behind  the  tree,  and  laughing  merrily.  But  on  approaching 
the  tree  no  black  boys  were  there. 

There  is  considerable  variety  in  American  ghosts.  In  Eu 
rope  these  phantoms  are  nearly  all  of  the  same  stamp  :  either 
tall  white  females  *hat  glide  by  moonlight  among  the  ruined 
cloisters  of  old  abbeys ;  or  pale  knights,  in  dark  armour,  that 
•wander,  at  midnight,  about  the  turrets  and  corridors  of  feudal 
castles.  In  our  country,  apparitions  go  as  little  by  rule  as 
their  living  pi  )totypes ;  and  are  certainly  very  prosaic  both  in 
looks  and  ways. 

The  old  persimmon  tree  was  still  there ;  but  the  field  had 
been  cultivated,  and  was  now  in  red  clover,  and  Lindsay  knew 
that  mind  had  marched  over  it. 

He  now  came  to  a  well-remembered  place,  the  low  one-story 
school-house  under  the  shade  of  a  great  birch  tree,  whose  twigs 
had  been  of  essential  service  in  the  hands  of  Master  Whacka- 
boy,  and  whose  smooth  and  paper-like  bark  was  fashionable  in 
the  seminary  for  writing-pieces.  The  door  and  windows  were 
open,  and  Lindsay  expected  as  formerly,  to  hear  the  master 
say  to  his  scholars,  at  the  sound  of  horses'  feet — "Read  out — 
read  out — strangers  are  going  by — ;"  which  order  had  always 
been  succeeded  by  a  chorus  of  readers  as  loud  and  inharmoni 
ous  as  what  children  call  a  Dutch  Concert.  As  Lindsay  passed 
the  school-house,  he  could  not  forbear  stopping  a  moment  to 
look  in;  and  instead  of  Bumpus  Whackaboy  in  his  round 
jacket,  he  saw  a  young  gentleman  in  a  frock  coat,  seated  at 
the  master's  desk,  with  an  aspect  of  great  satisfaction,  while  a 
lad  stood  before  him  frowning  and  stamping  desperately,  and 
reciting  Collins' s  Ode  on  the  Passions. 

Our  traveller  now  perceived  by  certain  well-remembered 
landinarks;  that  he  was  approaching  the  mill  in  whose  scales 


THE   OLD   FARM-HOUSE.  319 

he  had  frequently  been  weighed :  a  ceremony  never  omitted 
at  the  close  of  his  annual  visit  to  Oakland,  that  he  might  go 
home  rejoicing  in  the  number  of  pounds  he  had  gained  during 
his  sojourn  in  the  salubrious  air  and  homely  abundance  of  the 
farm.  "When  he  came  to  the  place,  he  found  three  mills ;  and 
he  was,  for  a  while,  puzzled  to  recollect  which  of  them  was 
his  old  acquaintance.  On  the  other  side  of  the  road  were  now 
a  tavern,  a  store,  and  a  blacksmith's  shop,  with  half  a  dozen 
dwelling-houses.  "  This,  I  suppose,  is  an  incipient  city," 
thought  Lindsay — and  so  it  was,  as  he  afterwards  found  :  the 
name  being  Candyville,  in  consequence,  perhaps,  of  the  people 
of  the  neighbourhood  having  left  off  tobacco  and  taken  to  mint- 
stick,  for  which,  and  other  bonbons  of  a  similar  character,  the 
demand  was  so  great  that  the  storekeeper  often  found  it  neces 
sary  to  take  a  journey  to  the  metropolis  chiefly  for  the  purpose 
of  bringing  out  a  fresh  supply. 

At  length  our  hero  came  to  a  hill  beyond  which  he  recol 
lected  that  a  turn  in  the  road  would  present  to  his  view  the 
house  of  Abraham  Hilliard,  as  it  stood  on  the  very  edge  of 
the  farm.  It  was  a  lovely  afternoon.  The  sunbeams  were 
dancing  merrily  on  the  creek,  whose  shining  waters  beautifully 
inverted  its  green  banks,  overshadowed  with  laurel  bushes  now 
in  full  bloom  and  covered  with  large  clusters  of  delicate  pink 
flowers. 

He  saw  the  top  of  the  enormous  oak  that  stood  in  front  of 
the  house,  and  which  had  been  spared  for  its  size  and  beauty, 
when  the  ground  was  first  redeemed  from  the  primeval  forest 
by  the  grandfather  of  the  present  proprietor. 

Lindsay  turned  into  the  lane.  What  was  his  amazement 
when  he  saw  not,  as  he  expected,  the  well-known  farm-house 
and  its  appurtenances ! — It  was  no  longer  there.  The  dilapi 
dated  ruins  of  the  chimney  alone  were  standing,  and  round 
them  lay  a  heap  of  rubbish.  He  stopped  his  horse  and  gazed 
long  and  sadly,  on  finding  all  his  pleasant  anticipations  turned 
at  once  to  disappointment.  Finally  he  dismounted,  and 
securing  his  bridle  to  a  large  nail  which  yet  remained  in  the 
trunk  of  the  old  tree,  having  been  placed  there  for  that  pur 
pose,  he  proceeded  to  take  a  nearer  view  of  what  had  once 
been  the  Oakland  Farm-House. 

There  were  indications  of  the  last  fire  that  had  ever  glad 
dened  the  hearth,  the  charred  remains  of  an  immense  back 
log,  now  half  hidden  beneath  a  luxuriant  growth  of  the  dusky 
and  ragged-leaved  Jamestown  weed.  In  a  corner  of  the  hearth 
27 


320  THE   OLD   FARM-HOUSE, 

grew  a  sumach  that  bid  fair  in  a  short  time  to  overtop  all  that 
was  left  of  the  chimney.  These  corners  had  once  been  fur 
nished  with  benches  on  which  the  children  used  to  sit  and 
amuse  themselves  with  stories  and  riddles,  in  the  cold  au 
tumnal  evenings,  when  fires  are  doubly  cheerful  from  being 
the  first  of  the  season. 

Of  the  long  porch  in  which  they  had  so  often  played  by 
moonlight,  nothing  now  remained  but  a  few  broken  and  decay 
ing  boards  with  grass  and  plantain-weeds  growing  among 
them;  and  some  relics  of  the  rough  stone  steps  that  had 
ascended  to  it,  now  displaced  and  fallen  aside  by  the  caving  in 
of  the  earth  behind. 

The  well  that  had  supplied  the  family  with  cold  water  for 
drinking,  had  lost  its  cover — the  sweep  had  fallen  down,  and 
the  bucket  and  chain  were  gone.  The  dark  cool  cellar  was 
laid  open  to  the  light  of  day,  and  was  now  a  deep  square  pit, 
overgrown  with  thistles  and  toad-flax. 

From  the  cracks  of  the  old  clay  oven  that  had  belonged  to 
the  chimney  (and  which  was  now  half  hidden  in  pokeberry 
plants),  issued  tufts  of  chick-weed ;  and  when  Lindsay  looked 
into  the  place  which  he  had  so  often  seen  filled  with  pies  and 
rice-puddings,  the  glare  of  bright  eyes  and  a  rustling  noise 
denoted  that  some  wild  animal  had  made  its  lair  in  the  cavity. 
Suddenly  a  large  gray  fox  sprung  out  of  the  oven-mouth,  and 
ran  fearfully  past  him  into  the  thicket.  Lindsay  thought  in 
a  moment  of  the  often-quoted  lines  of  Ossian. 

At  the  foot  of  the  little  eminence  on  which  the  house  was 
situated,  there  had  formerly  been  what  its  inhabitants  called 
the  harbour  (probably  a  corruption  of  arbour),  a  shed  rudely 
constructed  of  poles  interwoven  with  branches,  and  covered 
with  a  luxuriant  gourd-vine.  Here  the  milk-pans  and  pails 
were  washed,  and  much  of  the  "  slopping-work"  of  the  family 
done  in  the  summer.  A  piece  of  rock  formed  the  back-wall 
of  a  fire-place  in  which  an  immense  iron  pot  had  always  hung. 
A  slight  water-gate  opened  from  this  place  on  a  branch  of  the 
creek,  over  which  a  broad  thick  board  had  been  laid  as  a 
bridge,  and  a  short  distance  below  there  was  a  miniature  cas 
cade  or  fall,  at  which  Edward,  in  his  childhood,  had  erected 
a  small  wooden  tilt-hammer  of  his  own  making;  and  the 
strokes  of  this  tilt-hammer  could  be  heard,  to  his  great  delight, 
as  far  as  the  house,  particularly  in  the  stillness  of  night,  when 
the  sound  was  doubly  audible. 

The  cauldron  had  now  disappeared,  leaving  no  trace  but 


THE   OLD   FARM-HOUSE.  321 

the  blackened  stone  behind  it ;  the  remains  of  the  water-gate 
were  lying  far  up  on  the  bank ;  the  board  had  fallen  into  the 
water ;  the  rude  trellis  was  broken  down ;  and  masses  of  the 
gourd-vine,  which  had  sprung  from  the  scattered  seeds,  were 
running  about  in  wild  disorder  wherever  they  could  find  any 
thing  to  climb  upon. 

Lindsay  turned  to  the  spot  <(  where  once  the  garden  smiled/' 
and  found  it  a  wilderness  of  tall  and  tangled  weeds,  inter 
spersed  with  three  or  four  degenerate  hollyhocks,  and  a  few 
other  flowers  that  had  sowed  themselves  and  dwindled  into 
insignificance.  And  in  the  division  appropriated  to  culinary 
purposes,  were  some  straggling  vegetables  that  had  returned 
to  a  state  worse  than  indigenous — with  half  a  dozen  rambling 
bushes  that  had  long  since  ceased  to  bear  fruit. 

Lindsay  had  gazed  on  the  gigantic  remains  of  the  Roman 
Coliseum,  on  "the  castled  crag  of  Drachenfels,"  and  on  the 
ivy-mantled  arches  of  Tintern,  but  they  awakened  no  sensation 
that  could  compare  with  the  melancholy  feeling  that  oppressed 
him  as  he  explored  the  humble  ruins  of  this  simple  farm-house, 
where  every  association  came  home  to  his  heart,  reminding 
him  not  of  what  he  had  read,  but  of  what  he  had  seen,  and 
known,  and  felt,  and  enjoyed. 

As  he  stood  with  folded  arms  contemplating  the  images  of 
desolation  before  him,  his  attention  was  diverted  by  the  sound 
of  footsteps,  and,  on  looking  round,  he  perceived  an  old  negro 
coming  down  the  road,  with  a  basket  in  one  hand,  and  in  the 
other  a  jug  corked  with  a  corn-cob.  The  negro  pulled  off  his 
battered  wool-hat,  and  making  a  bow  and  a  scrape,  said : 
"  Sarvant,  masser — "  and  Lindsay,  on  returning  his  bow, 
recognised  the  unusual  breadth  of  nose  and  width  of  mouth 
that  had  distinguished  a  free  black,  well  known  in  the  neigh 
bourhood  by  the  name  of  Pharaoh,  and  in  whom  the  lapse  of 
time  had  made  no  other  alteration  than  that  of  bleaching  his 
wool,  which  was  now  quite  white. 

"  Why,  Pharaoh — my  old  fellow  !"  exclaimed  Lindsay,  "  is 
this  really  yourself?" 

"  Can't  say,  masser,"  replied  Pharaoh.  "  All  people's 
much  the  same.  Best  not  be  too  personal.  But  I  b'lieve 
I'm  he." 

"  Have  you  no  recollection  of  Edward  Lindsay  ?"  inquired 
our  hero.  ^ 

"  Lawful  heart,  masser  !"  exclaimed  the  negro.  "  I  do 
b'lieve  you're  little  Neddy,  what  used  to  come  from  town  and 


322  THE   OLD   FARM-HOUSE. 

stay  at  old  Abram  Hilliard's  of  summers,  and  what  still  kept 
wisiting  there,  by  times,  till  you  goed  over  sea." 

"  I  am  that  identical  Neddy,"  replied  Lindsay,  holding  out 
his  hand  to  the  old  negro,  who  evinced  his  delight  by  a  series 
of  loud  laughs. 

"  Yes — yes,"  pursued  Pharaoh,  "  now  I  look  sharper  at  you, 
masser,  I  see  plain  you're  'xactly  he.  You've  jist  a  same 
nose,  and  a  same  eyes,  and  a  same  mouth,  what  you  had  when 
you  tumbled  down  the  well,  and  fall'd  out  the  chestnut  tree, 
and  when  you  was  peck'd  hard  by  the  big  turkey-cock,  and 
butted  by  the  old  ram." 

li  Truly,"  said  Lindsay,  (C  you  seem  to  have  forgotten  none 
of  my  juvenile  disasters." 

"  To  be  sure  not,"  replied  Pharaoh,  "  I  'member  every  one 
of  them,  and  a  heap  more,  only  I  don't  want  to  be  personal." 

"And  now,"  said  Lindsay,  "as  we  have  so  successfully 
identified  each  other,  let  me  know,  at  once,  what  has  happened 
to  my  good  friends  the  Hilliards,  who  I  thought  were  fixed 
here  for  life.  Why  do  I  see  their  house  a  heap  of  ruins  ? 
Have  the  family  been  reduced  to  poverty  ?" 

"Lawful  heart,  no,"  exclaimed  the  negro :  "Masser  Neddy 
been  away  so  long  in  foreign  parts,  he  forget  how  when  people 
here  in  'Merica  give  up  their  old  houses,  it's  a'most  always 
acause  they've  got  new  ones.  Now  old  Abram  Hilliard  he 
get  richer  and  richer  every  minute — though  I  guess  he  was 
pretty  rich  when  you  know'd  him,  only  he  never  let  on.  And 
so  he  build  him  fine  stone  house  beyont  his  piece  of  oak-woods, 
and  there  he  live  this  blessed  day. — And  we  goes  there  quite 
another  road. — And  so  he  gove  this  old  frame  to  old  Pharaoh ; 
and  so  I  had  the  whole  house  carted  off,  all  that  was  good  of 
it,  and  put  it  up  on  the  road-side,  just  beyont  here,  in  place 
of  my  old  tumble-down  cabin  what  I  used  to  live  in,  that  I've 
altered  into  a  pig-pen.  So  now  me  and  Binkey  am  quite  com- 
fabull." 

"  Show  me  the  way,"  said  Lindsay,  "  to  the  new  residence 
of  Mr.  Hilliard.  I  have  come  from  Philadelphia  on  purpose 
to  visit  the  family." 

"  Bless  your  heart,  masser,  for  that,"  said  the  old  negro,  as 
he  held  the  stirrup  for  Lindsay  to  mount  j  and  walking  by  his 
side,  he  proceeded  with  the  usual  garrulity  of  the  African  race, 
to  relate  many  particulars  of  the  Hilliards  and  their  transit. 

"Of  course,  Masser  Neddy,"  said  Pharaoh,  "you  'member 
old  Abram' s  two  boys  Isaac  and  Jacob,  what  you  used  to  play 


THE  OLD  FA&M-noUSE,  323 

with.  You  know  Isaac  mostly  whipped  you  when  you  foufc 
with  him.  "Well,  when  they  growed  up,  they  thought  they'd 
help'd  their  father  long  enough^  and  as  they  wanted  right  bad 
to  go  west,  the  old  man  gove  'em  money  to  buy  back  land* 
So  each  took  him  horse — Isaac  took  Mike,  and  Jacob  took 
Morgan,  and  they  started  west,  and  went  to  a  place  away 
back — away  back — seven  hundred  thousand  miles  beyonfc 
Pitchburg.  And  they're  like  to  get  mighty  rich ;  and  word's 
come  as  Jacob's  neighbours  is  going  to  set  him  up  for  con 
gress,  and  I  shouldn't  be  the  least  'prized  if  he's  presidump. 
You  'member,  Masser  Neddy,  Jacob  was  always  the  tonguiest 
of  the  two  boys." 

"And  where  are  Mr.  Hilliard's  daughters  ?"  asked  Lindsay. 

"  Oh,  as  to  the  two  oldest/'  replied  Pharaoh,  "  Kitty  married 
Billy  Pleasants,  as  keeps  the  store  over  at  Candyville,  and 
Betsey  made  a  great  match  with  a  man  what  has  a  terrible  big 
farm  over  on  Siskahanna.  And  old  Abram,  after  he  got  into 
him  new  house,  sent  him  two  youngest  to  the  new  school  up 
at  Wonderville,  where  they  teaches  tho  gals  all  sorts  of  wit 
and  laming." 

"And  how  are  your  own  wife  and  children,  Pharaoh  ?"  in 
quired  Lindsay ;  "  I  remember  them  very  well." 

"  Bless  your  heart  for  that,  masser !"  replied  the  negro  ; 
"why  Rose  is  hired  at  Abram  Hilliard's — you  know  they 
brungt  her  up.  And  Cato  lives  out  in  Philadelphy — I  won 
ders  masser  did  not  see  him.  And  as  for  old  Binkey,  she 
holds  her  own  pretty  well.  You  know,  masser,  Binkey  was 
always  a  great  hand  at  quiltings,  and  weddings,  and  buryings, 
and  such  like  frolics,  and  used  to  be  sent  for,  high  and  low,  to 
help  cook  at  them  times.  But  now  she's  a  getting  old, — 
being  most  a  thousand, — and  her  birth-day  mostly  comes  on 
the  forty-second  of  Feberwary — and  so  she  stays  at  home,  and 
makes  rusk  and  gingerbread  and  molasses  beer.  This  is  mo 
lasses  I  have  in  the  jemmy-john ;  I've  jist  come  from  the  store. 
So  she  sells  cakes  and  beer — that's  the  reason  we  lives  on  the 
road-side — and  I  works  about.  We  used  to  have  a  sign  that 
Sammy  Spokes  the  wheelwright  painted  for  us,  for  he  was 
then  the  only  man  in  these  parts  that  had  paints.  There  was 
two  ginger-cakes  on  it,  and  one  rusk,  and  a  coal-black  bottle 
with  the  beer  spouting  up  high,  and  falling  into  a  tumbler 
without  ever  spilling  a  drap.  We  were  desperate  pleased  with 
the  sign,  for  folks  said  it  looked  so  nateral,  and  Sammy  Spokes 
made  us  a  present  of  it;  and  would  not  take  it  out  in  cakes 
27* 


324  THE   OLD   FARM-HOUSE. 

and  beer,  as  we  wanted  him,  and  that  shewed  him  to  be  very 
much  of  a  gemplan." 

"  As  no  doubt  he  is,"  remarked  Lindsay ;  "  I  find,  since 
my  return  to  America,  that  gentlemen  are  '  as  plenty  as 
blackberries/  " 

"  You  say  very  true,  masser,"  rejoined  the  negro  ;  "  we  are 
all  gemplans  now-a-days,  and  has  plenty  of  blackberries. 
"Well,  as  I  was  saying,  we  liked  the  sign  a  heap.  But  after 
Nelly  Hilliard  as  was — we  calls  her  Miss  Ellen  now — quit 
Wonderville  school,  where  she  learnt  everything  on  the  face 
of  the  yearth,  she  thought  she  would  persecute  painting  at 
home,  for  she  had  a  turn  that  way  and  wanted  to  keep  her 
hand  in.  So  she  set  to,  and  painted  a  new  sign,  and  took  it 
all  out  of  her  own  head ;  and  gove  it  to  old  Binkey  and  ax- 
planed  it  to  us.  There's  a  thing  on  it  that  Miss  Ellen  calls 
a  urn  or  wase — that  stands  for  beer — and  then  there's  a  sugar 
cane  growing  out  of  it — that  stands  for  molasses.  And  then 
there's  a  thick  string  of  green  leaves,  with  roots  twisted 
amongst  ;em — that  answers  for  ginger,  for  she  told  us  that 
ginger  grows  like  any  other  widgable,  and  has  stalks  and 
leaves,  but  the  root  is  what  we  uses.  Yet,  somehow,  folks 
doesn't  seem  to  understand  this  sign  as  well  as  the  old  one. 
A  great  many  thinks  the  wase  be  an  old  sugar-dish  with  a  bit 
of  a  corn-stalk  sticking  out  of  it,  and  some  passley  and  hoss- 
reddish  plastered  on  the  outside,  and  say  they  should  never 
guess  cakes  and  beer  by  it." 

u  I  should  suppose  not,"  said  Lindsay. 

"  But,  Masser  Neddy,"  pursued  the  old  negro,  "  all  this 
time,  we  have  been  calling  Abram  Hilliard  ( Abram/  instead 
of  saying  squire.  Only  think  of  old  Abram ;  he  has  been 
made  a  squire  this  good  while,  and  marries  people.  After  he 
move  into  him  new  house,  he  begun  to  get  high,  and  took  to 
putting  on  a  clean  shirt  and  shaving  every  day,  which  Rose 
says  was  a  pretty  tough  job  with  him  at  first;  but  he  parse- 
wered.  And  he's  apt  to  have  fresh  meat  whenever  it's  to  be 
got,  and  he  won't  eat  stale  pies  :  and  so  they  have  to  do  small 
bakings  every  day,  instead  of  big  ones  twice  a  week.  And 
sometimes  he  even  go  so  far  as  to  have  geese  took  out  of  the 
flock,  and  killed  and  roasted,  instead  of  saving  'em  all  for 
feathers.  And  he  says  that  now  he's  clear  of  the  world,  he 
will  live  as  he  likes,  and  have  everything  he  wants,  and  be 
quite  comfabull.  And  he  made  his  old  woman  leave  oif  wear 
ing  short  gownds,  and  put  on  long  gownds  all  the  time,  and 


THE  OLD   FARM-HOUSE.  825 

quit  calling  him  daddy,  which  Rose  says  went  very  hard  with 
her  for  a  while.  The  gals  being  young,  were  broke  of  it  easy 
enough ;  and  now  they  says  pappy." 

"  Pshaw  !"  ejaculated  Lindsay,  whose  regret  at  the  general 
change  which  seemed  to  have  come  over  the  Hilliard  family 
now  amounted  nearly  to  vexation. 

"  Now,  Masser  Neddy/'  continued  Pharaoh,  "  we've  got 
to  the  new  house — there  it  stands,  right  afore  you.  An't 
you  'prised  at  it?  I  always  am  whenever  I  sees  it.  So 
please  a  jump  off,  and  I'll  take  your  boss  to  the  stable,  and 
put  him  up,  and  tell  the  people  at  the  barn  that  Masser  Ned 
dy's  come;  and  you  can  go  into  the  house  and  speak  for 
you'mself." 

Lindsay,  at  parting,  put  a  dollar  into  the  hand  of  the  old 
negro.  "  What  for  this,  Masser  Neddy  ?"  asked  Pharaoh, 
trying  to  look  very  disinterested. 

"  Do  whatever  you  please  with  it,"  answered  Lindsay. 

"  Well,  masser,"  replied  the  negro,  "  I  never  likes  to  hurt  a 
gemplan's  feelings  by  'fusing  him.  So  I'll  keep  it,  just  to 
'blige  you.  But,  I  'spect,  to  be  sure,  Masser  Neddy'll  step  in 
some  day  at  negor-man's  cabin,  and  see  old  Binkcy,  and  take 
part  of  him  dollar  out  in  cakes  and  beer.  I'll  let  masser  know 
when  Binkey  has  a  fresh  baking." 

Pharaoh  then  led  off  the  horse,  and  Lindsay  stood  for  a  few 
moments  to  take  a  survey  of  the  new  residence  of  his  old 
friends.  It  was  a  broad,  substantial  two-story  stone  house. 
There  was  a  front  garden,  where  large  snow-ball  trees 

"  Threw  up  their  silver  globes,  light  as  the  foamy  surf," 

and  where  the  conical  clusters  of  the  lilac,  and  the  little  May 
roses,  were  bursting  into  fragrance  and  beauty,  and  uniting 
their  odours  with  those  of  the  tall  white  lily,  and  the  lowly 
but  delicious  pink.  Behind  the  house  ascended  a  woodland 
hill,  whose  trees  at  this  season  exhibited  every  shade  of  green, 
in  tints  as  various  as  the  diversified  browns  of  autumn. 

Lindsay  found  the  front  door  unfastened,  and  opening  it 
without  ceremony,  he  entered  a  wide  hall  furnished  with  a 
long  settee,  a  large  table,  a  hat-stand,  a  hanging  lamp,  a  map 
of  the  United  States,  and  one  of  the  world.  There  was  a  large 
parlour  on  each  side  of  the  hall,  and  Lindsay  looked  into  both, 
the  doors  being  open.  One  was  carpeted,  and  seemed  to  be 
fitted  up  for  winter,  the  other  had  a  matted  floor,  and  was 
evidently  the  summer  sitting-room.  The  furniture  in  both, 


326  THE  OLD  FARM-HOUSE. 

though  by  no  means  showy,  was  excellent  of  its  kind  and  ex 
tremely  neat ;  and  in  its  form  and  arrangement  convenience 
Beenied  to  be  the  chief  consideration.  Lindsay  thought  he 
had  never  seen  more  pleasant-looking  rooms.  In  the  carpeted 
parlour,  on  the  hearth  of  the  Franklin  stove,  sat  a  blue  china 
jar  filled  with  magnolia  flowers,  whose  spicy  perfume  was 
tempered  by  the  outer  air  that  came  through  the  Venetian 
blinds  which  were  lowered  to  exclude  the  sunbeams.  One 
recess  was  occupied  by  a  mahogany  book-case,  and  there  was 
a  sideboard  in  the  other.  The  chimney-place  of  the  summer 
parlour  was  concealed  by  a  drapery  of  ingeniously  cut  paper, 
and  the  various  and  beautiful  flowers  that  adorned  the  mantel 
piece  had  evidently  been  cultivated  with  care.  Shelves  of 
books  hung  in  the  recesses,  and  in  both  rooms  were  sofas  and 
rocking-chairs. 

"  Is  it  possible/'  thought  Lindsay,  "  that  this  can  be  the 
habitation  of  Abraham  Milliard  ?"  And  he  ran  over  in  his 
mind  the  humble  aspect  of  their  sitting-room  in  the  old  farm 
house,  with  its  home-made  carpet  of  strips  of  listing ;  its  tall- 
backed  rush  chairs;  its  walnut  table;  its  corner  cupboard; 
its  hanging  shelves  suspended  from  the  beams  that  crossed  the 
ceiling,  and  holding  miscellaneous  articles  of  every  description. 

Having  satisfied  his  curiosity  by  looking  into  the  parlours, 
he  proceeded  through  the  hall  to  the  back  door,  and  there  he 
found,  in  a  porch  canopied  with  honeysuckle,  a  woman  busily 
engaged  in  picking  the  stems  from  a  basket  of  early  straw 
berries,  as  she  transferred  the  fruit  to  a  large  bowl.  Time 
had  made  so  little  change  in  her  features,  that,  though  much 
improved  in  her  costume,  he  easily  guessed  her  to  be  his  old 
hostess  Mrs.  Hilliard.  "  Aunt  Susan  I"  he  exclaimed ;  for 
by  that  title  he  had  been  accustomed  to  address  her  in  his 
boyhood.  The  old  lady  started  up,  and  hastily  snatched  off 
her  strawberry-stained  apron. 

"  Have  you  no  recollection  of  Edward  Lindsay  ?"  continued 
our  hero,  heartily  shaking  her  hand. 

She  surveyed  him  from  head  to  foot,  till  his  identity  dawned 
upon  her,  and  then  she  ejaculated — "It  is — it  must  be — 
though  you  are  a  gentleman,  you  must  be  little  Neddy — there 
— there,  sit  down — I'll  be  back  in  a  moment." 

She  went  into  the  house,  and  returned  almost  immediately, 
bringing  with  her  a  small  coquelicot  waiter,  with  cakes  and 
wine,  which  she  pressed  Lindsay  to  partake  of.  He  smiled  as 
he  recollected  that  one  of  the  customs  of  Oakland  Farm  was 


THE   OLD   FARM-HOUSE.  327 

to  oblige  every  stranger  to  eat  and  drink  immediately  on  his 
arrival.  And  while  he  was  discussing  a  cake  and  a  glass  of 
wine,  the  good  dame  heaped  a  saucer  with  strawberries,  car 
ried  it  away  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  brought  it  back  inun 
dated  with  cream  and  sugar.  This  was  also  presented  to 
Lindsay,  recommending  that  he  should  eat  another  cake  with 
the  strawberries,  and  take  another  glass  of  wine  after  them. 

On  Edward's  inquiring  for  her  husband,  Mrs.  Hilliard  re 
plied  that  he  was  somewhere  about  the  farm,  and  that  the 
girls  were  drinking  tea  with  some  neighbours  a  few  miles  off; 
but  she  said  she  would  send  the  carriage  for  them  immediately, 
that  they  might  be  home  early  in  the  evening. 

In  a  short  time  Abraham  Hilliard  came  in,  having  seen 
Pharaoh  at  the  barn,  who  had  informed  him  of  the  arrival  of 
"  Master  Neddy."  The  meeting  afforded  equal  gratification 
to  both  parties.  The  old  farmer  looked  as  if  quite  accustomed 
to  a  clean  shirt  and  to  shaving  every  day ;  and  Lindsay  was 
glad  to  find  that  his  manner  of  expressing  himself  had  im 
proved  with  his  circumstances.  Aunt  Susan,  however,  had 
not,  in  this  respect,  kept  pace  with  her  husband,  remaining,  to 
use  her  own  expression — "just  the  same  old  two  and  six 
pence."  Women  who  have  not  in  early  life  enjoyed  opportu 
nities  of  cultivating  their  minds  are  rarely  able  at  a  late  period 
to  acquire  much  conversational  polish. — With  men  the  case  is 
different. 

Mrs.  Hilliard  now  left  her  husband  to  entertain  their  guest, 
and,  "  on  hospitable  thoughts  intent,"  withdrew  to  superintend 
the  setting  of  a  tea-table  abounding  in  cakes  and  sweetmeats ; 
the  strawberry  bowl  and  a  pitcher  of  cream  occupying  the 
centre.  This  repast  was  laid  out  in  the  wide  hall,  and  while 
engaged  in  arranging  it,  Mrs.  Hilliard  joined  occasionally  in 
the  conversation  which  her  husband  and  Lindsay  were  pursuing 
in  her  hearing,  as  they  sat  in  the  porch. 

"  Well,  Edward,"  proceeded  Mr.  Hilliard,  "  you  see  a  great 
alteration  in  things  at  the  farm  :  and  I  conclude  you  are  glad 
to  find  us  in  a  better  way  than  when  you  left  us." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Lindsay. 

"  Now,"  said  the  penetrating  old  farmer,  "  that  '  certainly' 
did  not  come  from  your  heart. — Tell  me  the  truth — you  miss 
something,  don't  you  ?" 

"  Frankly,  then,"  replied  Lindsay,  "  I  miss  everything — I 
own  myself  so  selfish  as  to  feel  some  disappointment  at  the 
entire  overthrow  of  all  the  images  which  during  my  long  ab- 


THE    OLD   FARM-HOUSE. 

sence  had  been  present  to  my  mind's  eye,  in  connexion  with 
my  remembrances  of  Oakland  Farm.  Thinking  of  the  old 
farm  house  and  its  inhabitants,  precisely  as  I  had  left  them, 
and  believing  that  time  had  passed  over  them  without  causing 
any  essential  change,  I  must  say  that  I  cannot,  just  at  first, 
bring  myself  to  be  glad  that  it  is  otherwise.  The  happiness 
that  seemed  to  dwell  with  the  old  house  and  the  old-fashioned 
ways  of  its  people,  had  been  vividly  impressed  upon  my  feelings. 
And  I  fear — forgive  me  for  saying  so — that  your  family  can 
not  have  added  much  to  their  felicity  by  acquiring  ideas  and 
adopting  habits  to  which  they  so  long  were  strangers." 

"  There  you  are  mistaken,  my  dear  boy/'  answered  the 
farmer.  "  I  acknowledge  that  if,  in  removing  to  a  larger 
house,  and  altering  our  way  of  living,  we  had  in  any  one  in 
stance  sacrificed  comfort  to  show,  or  convenience  to  ostentation 
— which,  unfortunately,  has  been  the  error  of  some  of  our 
neighbours — we  should,  indeed,  have  enjoyed  far  less  happiness 
than  heretofore.  But  we  have  not  done  so.  We  have  made 
no  attempts  at  mimicking  what  in  the  city  is  called  style ;  and 
I  have  forbidden  my  daughters  to  mention  the  word  fashion 
in  my  presence." 

"Yes — yes,"  said  Mrs.  Hilliard,  "I  hope  we  have  been 
wiser  than  the  Newman  family  over  at  Poplar  Plains.  As 
soon  as  they  got  a  little  up  in  the  world,  they  built  a  shell  of 
a  house  that  looks  as  if  it  was  made  of  white  pasteboard ;  and 
figured  it  all  over  with  carved  work  inside  and  out ;  and  stuck 
posts  and  pillars  all  about  it  with  nothing  of  consequence  to 
hold  up ;  and  furnished  the  rooms  with  all  sorts  of  useless 
trumpery." 

"  Softly — softly — wife  !"  interrupted  old  Abraham — and 
turning  to  our  hero,  he  proceeded — "  well,  as  I  was  telling 
you,  Edward,  I  endeavour  to  enjoy  what  I  have  worked  so 
hard  to  acquire,  and  to  enjoy  it  in  a  manner  that  really  im 
proves  our  condition,  and  renders  it  in  every  respect  better. 
You  know,  that  in  former  times,  though  I  had  very  little  lei 
sure  to  read,  I  liked  to  take  up  a  book  whenever  I  had  a  few 
moments  to  spare,  if  I  was  not  too  tired  with  my  work ;  and 
when  I  went  to  town  with  marketing,  I  always  bought  a  book 
to  bring  home  with  me.  Also,  I  took  a  weekly  paper.  As 
soon  as  I  could  afford  it,  I  brought  home  more  than  one  book, 
and  took  a  daily  paper.  I  gave  my  children  the  benefit  of 
the  best  schooling  that  could  be  procured  without  sending  them 


THE   OLD   FARM-HOUSE.  329 

to  town  for  the  purpose ;  but  at  the  same  time,  I  was  averse 
to  their  learning  any  showy  and  useless  accomplishments." 

"Well,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Hilliard,  "we  were  certainly  wiser 
than  the  Newmans,  who  sent  their  girls  to  a  French  school  in 
Philadelphia,  and  had  them  taught  music,  both  guitar  and 
piano.  And  the  Newman  girls  mix  up  their  talk  with  all 
sorts  of  French  words  that  sound  very  ugly  to  me.  Instead 
of  '  good  night'  they  say  lone  swear  ;  *  and  a  l  trifle'  they  call 
a  bagtafl, ;  f  and  they  are  always  talking  about  having  a  Gen- 
nessee  Squaw ;  J  though  what  they  mean  by  that  I  cannot 
imagine ;  for,  I  am  sure  I  never  saw  any  such  thing  in  this 
part  of  the  country.  And  the  tunes  they  play  on  the  piano 
seem  to  me  like  no  tunes  at  all,  but  just  a  sort  of  scrambling 
up  and  down,  that  nobody  can  make  either  head  or  tail  of. 
And  when  they  sing  to  the  guitar,  it  sounds  to  me  just  like 
moaning  one  minute,  and  screaming  the  next,  with  a  little 
tinkling  between  whiles." 

"Wife — wife,"  interrupted  Abraham,  "you  are  too  severe 
on  the  poor  girls." 

"  Well — well,"  proceeded  Mrs.  Hilliard,  "  I'll  say  nothing 
more,  only  this  :  that  the  airs  they  take  on  themselves  make 
them  the  talk  of  the  whole  country — And  then  they've  given 
up  all  sorts  of  work.  The  mother  spends  most  of  her  time  in 
taking  naps,  to  make  up,  I  suppose,  for  having  had  to  rise 
early  all  the  former  part  of  her  life.  The  girls  sit  about  all 
day  in  stiff  silk  frocks,  squeezed  so  tight  in  them  that  they 
can  hardly  move.  Or  they  go  round  paying  morning  visits, 
interrupting  people  in  the  busy  part  of  the  day.  And  they 
invite  company  to  their  house,  and  give  them  no  tea;  and  say 
they're  having  a  swearey.  §  To  be  sure  it's  a  shame  for  me  to 
say  so,  but  it's  well  known  that  they  never  have  a  good  thing 
on  their  table  now,  but  pretend  it's  genteel  to  live  on  bits  and 
morsels  that  have  neither  taste  nor  substance.  And  no  doubt 
that's  the  reason  the  whole  family  have  grown  so  thin  and 
yellow,  and  are  always  complaining  of  something  they  call 
dyspepsy." 

"  They  have  certainly  changed  for  the  worse,"  remarked 
Lindsay.  "  I  remember  the  Newmans  very  well — a  happy, 
homely  family  living  in  a  long,  low,  red  frame  house,  and 
having  everything  about  them  plain  and  plentiful." 

*  Bon  soir.  f  Bagatelle.  t  Je  ne  sais  quoi. 

\  Soiree. 


330  THE   OLD   FARM-HOUSE. 

"  So  had  we  in  our  former  dwelling,"  said  Mr.  Hilliard, 
"jet  I  think  we  are  living  still  better  now." 

"  I  have  many  pleasant  recollections  of  the  old  house/' 
said  Lindsay. 

"  For  you/'  observed  the  farmer,  "  our  old  house  and  the 
manner  in  which  we  then  lived,  owed  most  of  their  charms  to 
novelty,  and  to  the  circumstance  that  children  are  seldom 
fastidious.  I  doubt  much,  if  you  had  found  everything  in 
statu  quo,  and  the  old  house  and  its  inhabitants  jutt  as  you 
left  them,  whether  you  could  have  been  induced  to  make  us 
as  long  a  visit  as  I  hope  you  will  now." 

"  My  husband/'  said  Mrs.  Hilliard,  "  is  different  from  most 
men  of  his  age.  Instead  of  dwelling  all  the  while  upon  old 
times,  he  stands  up  for  the  times  we  live  in,  and  says  every 
thing  now  is  better  than  it  used  to  be.  And  he's  brought  me 
to  agree  with  him  pretty  much — I  never  was  an  idle  woman, 
and  I  keep  myself  busy  enough  still,  but  I  do  think  it  is 
pleasanter  to  keep  hired  people  for  the  hard  work  than  to 
have  to  help  with  it  myself,  as  you  know  I  used  to.  Though 
I  never  complained  about  it,  still  I  cannot  say,  now  I  look 
back,  that  there  was  any  great  pleasure  in  helping  on  washing- 
days  and  ironing-days,  or  in  making  soft  soap,  and  baking 
great  batches  of  bread  and  pies — to  be  sure,  my  soft  soap  was 
admired  all  over  the  country,  and  my  bread  was  always  light, 
and  my  pie-crust  never  tough.  Neither  was  there  much  de 
light  in  seeing  my  two  eldest  girls  paddling  to  the  barn-yard 
every  morning  and  evening,  through  all  weathers,  to  milk  the 
cows  j  or  setting  them  at  heavy  churnings,  and  other  hard 
work.  And  then  at  harvest-time,  and  at  killing-time,  and 
when  we  were  getting  the  marketing  ready  for  husband  to 
take  to  town  in  the  wagon,  we  were  on  our  feet  the  whole 
blessed  day.  To  be  sure,  they  were  used  to  it,  but  I  often 
felt  sorry  for  Abraham  and  the  boys,  when  they  came  home 
from  the  field  in  a  warm  evening,  so  tired  with  work  they 
could  hardly  speak,  and  were  glad  to  wash  themselves,  and  get 
their  supper,  and  go  to  bed  at  dark.  And  the  girls  and  I 
were  always  glad  enough,  too,  to  get  our  rest  as  soon  as  we 
had  put  away  the  milk  and  washed  the  supper  things ;  know 
ing  we  should  have  to  be  up  before  the  stars  were  gone,  to 
sweep  the  house  and  do  the  milking,  and  get  the  breakfast, 
that  the  men  might  be  off  early  to  work." 

"  I  remember  all  this  very  well,"  said  Lindsay. 

"  To  be  sure  you  do/'  pursued  Mrs.  Hilliard.     "  Then  don't 


THE   OLD   FARM-HOUSE.  331 

you  think  it's  pleasant  for  us  now  not  to  be  overworked  during 
the  day,  so  that  in  the  evening,  instead  of  going  to  bed,  we 
can  sit  round  the  table  in  a  nice  parlour,  and  sew  and  knit ; 
or  read,  for  them  that  likes  it.  Husband  and  the  girls  always 
did  take  pleasure  in  reading — and,  for  my  part,  now  I've 
time,  I'm  beginning  to  like  a  book  myself.  Last  winter,  I 
read  a  good  deal  in  the  second  volume  of  the  Spectator.  In 
short,  I  have  not  the  least  notion  of  grieving  after  our  way 
of  living  at  the  old  house/' 

"  Nor  I  neither,"  added  Abraham ;  "  and  I  really  find  it 
much  more  agreeable  to  superintend  my  farm,  than  to  be 
obliged  to  labour  on  it  myself." 

"  And  now  let  us  proceed  with  our  tea,"  said  Mrs.  Hilliard ; 
t(  and,  Neddy,  if  you  do  not  eat  hearty  of  what  you  see  before 
you,  I  shall  think  you  are  fretting  after  the  mush  and  milk, 
and  sowins,  and  pie  and  cheese,  that  we  use  to  have  on  our 
old  supper  table,  and  which  I  do  not  believe  you  could  eat 
now  if  they  were  before  you.  Come,  you  must  not  mind  my 
speaking  out  so  plainly.  You  know  I  always  was  a  right-down 
sort  of  woman,  and  am  so  still." 

Edward  smiled,  and  pressed  her  hand  kindly,  acknowledg 
ing  that  all  she  had  said  was  justified  by  truth  and  reason. 

The  carriage — they  kept  a  very  plain  but  a  very  capacious 
one — brought  home  the  girls  shortly  after  candle-light.  Lind 
say  ran  out  to  assist  them  in  alighting,  and  was  glad  to  find 
that  on  hearing  his  name  they  retained  a  perfect  recollection 
of  him,  though  they  were  in  their  earliest  childhood  at  the 
time  of  his  departure  for  Europe.  When  they  came  into  the 
light,  he  found  them  both  very  pretty.  Their  skins  had  not 
been  tanned  by  exposure  to  the  sun  and  wind,  nor  their 
shoulders  stooped,  nor  their  hands  reddened  by  hard  work ; 
as  had  been  the  case  with  their  two  elder  sisters.  They  were 
dressed  in  white  frocks,  blue  shawls,  and  straw  bonnets  with 
blue  ribbons ;  neatly,  and  in  good  taste. 

The  evening  passed  pleasantly,  and  Lindsay  soon  discovered 
that  the  daughters  of  his  host  were  very  charming  girls. 
Ellen,  perhaps,  had  a  little  tinge  of  vanity,  but  Lucy  was 
entirely  free  from  it.  Diffidence  prevented  her  from  talking 
much,  but  she  listened  understandingly,  and  when  she  did 
speak,  it  was  with  animation  and  intelligence.  Lindsay  felt 
that  he  should  not  have  liked  her  so  well  had  she  looked,  and 
dressed,  and  talked  as  he  remembered  her  elder  sisters. 

When  he  retired  for  the  night,  his  bed  and  room  were  so 
28 


332  THE   OLD   FARM-HOUSE. 

well  furnished,  and  looked  so  inviting,  that  he  could  not  regret 
the  little  low  apartment  with  no  chimney  and  only  one  win 
dow,  that  he  had  occupied  in  the  old  farm-house ;  and  he  slept 
quite  as  soundly  under  a  white  counterpane  as  he  had  formerly 
done  under  a  patch-work  quilt. 

We  have  no  space  to  enter  more  minutely  into  the  details 
of  our  hero's  visit,  nor  to  relate  by  what  process  he  speedily 
became  a  convert  to  the  fact  that  even  among  country-people 
the  march  of  improvement  adds  greatly  to  their  comfort  and 
happiness ;  provided  always,  that  they  do  not  mistake  the  road, 
and  diverge  into  the  path  of  folly  and  pretension. 

Suffice  it  to  say,  that  he  protracted  his  stay  to  a  week,  dur 
ing  which  he  broke  the  girls  of  the  habit  of  saying  "  Pappy/' 
substituting  the  more  sensible  and  affectionate  epithet  of 
"father."  When  Pharaoh  announced  the  proper  time,  he 
made  a  visit  to  the  refectory  of  old  Binkey,  whom  he  after 
wards  desired  the  Candyville  storekeeper  to  supply  at  his 
charge,  with  materials  for  her  cakes  and  beer,  ad  libitum, 
during  the  remainder  of  her  life. 

The  visit  of  Edward  Lindsay  to  Oakland  was  in  the  course 
of  the  summer  so  frequently  repeated,  that  no  one  was  much 
surprised  when,  early  in  October,  he  conducted  Lucy  Hilliard 
to  Philadelphia  as  his  bride :  acknowledging  to  himself  that 
he  could  never  have  made  her  so,  had  she  and  her  family  con 
tinued  exactly  as  he  had  known  them  at  the  OLD  TARM-IIOUSE. 


THAT    GENTLEMAN: 

OR, 

PENCILLINGS  ON  SHIP-BOARD. 


"Yon  sun  that  sets  upon  the  sea 
We  follow  in  his  flight." — BYRON. 

"  AND  now,  dear  Caroline,  tell  us  some  particulars  of  your 
passage  home/'  said  Mrs.  Esdale  to  her  sister,  as  they  quitted 
the  tea-table  on  the  evening  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fenton's  arrival 
from  a  visit  to  Europe. 

"  Our  passage  home,"  replied  Mrs.  Fenton,  "  was  mode 
rately  short,  and  generally  pleasant.  "We  had  a  good  ship,  a 
good  captain,  splendid  accommodations,  and  an  excellent  table, 
and  were  not  crowded  with  too  many  passengers." 

"Yet,  let  us  hear  something  more  circumstantial,"  said 
Mrs.  Esdale. 

"Dear  Henrietta,"  replid  her  sister,  "have  I  not  often  told 
you  how  difficult  it  is  to  relate  anything  amusingly  or  inter 
estingly  when  you  are  expressly  called  upon  to  do  so;  when 
you  are  expected  to  sit  up  in  form,  and  furnish  a  regular  narra 
tive,  with  a  beginning,  a  middle,  and  an  end." 

"  But  indeed,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Esdale,  "  we  have  anticipated 
much  pleasure  from  hearing  your  account  of  the  voyage. 
Come, — let  us  take  our  seats  in  the  front  parlour,  and  leave 
your  husband  and  mine  to  their  discussion  of  the  political 
prospects  of  both  hemispheres.  The  girls  and  myself  would 
much  rather  listen  to  your  last  impressions  of  life  on  ship 
board/1 

"  Do.  dear  aunt."  said  both  the  daughters  of  Mrs.  Esdale, 

(333) 


334  THAT   GENTLEMAN. 

two  fine  girls  of  seventeen  and  fifteen — and  taking  their  seats 
at  the  sofa-table,  they  urged  Mrs  Fenton  to  commence. 

"Well,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Fenton,  "to  begin  in  the  manner 
of  the  fairy  tales — once  upon  a  time  there  lived  in  the  city  of 
New  York,  a  merchant  whose  name  was  Edward  Fenton — and 
he  had  a  wife  named  Caroline  Fenton.  And  notwithstanding 
that  they  had  a  town-house  and  a  country-house,  and  a  coach 
to  ride  in,  and  fine  clothes,  and  fine  furniture,  and  plenty  of 
good  things  to  eat  and  to  drink,  they  grew  tired  of  staying  at 
home  and  being  comfortable.  So  they  sailed  away  in  a  ship, 
and  never  stopped  till  they  got  to  England.  And  there  they 
saw  the  king  and  queen,  with  gold  crowns  on  their  heads,  and 
sceptres  in  their  hands — (by-the-bye  it  was  lucky  that  we  ar 
rived  in  time  for  the  coronation) — and  they  heard  the  king 
cough,  and  the  queen  sneeze  :  and  they  saw  lords  with  ribands 
and  stars,  and  ladies  with  plumes  and  diamonds.  They  tra 
velled  and  travelled,  and  often  came  to  great  castles  that 
looked  like  giants'  houses  :  and  they  went  all  over  England 
and  Wales,  and  Ireland  and  Scotland.  Then  they  returned 
to  London,  and  saw  more  sights ;  and  then  they  were  satisfied 
to  come  back  to  America,  where  they  expect  to  live  happily 
all  the  rest  of  their  lives." 

11  Now,  aunt,  you  are  laughing  at  us/'  said  Juliet  Esdale — 
"your  letters  from  Europe  have  somewhat  taken  off  the  edge 
of  our  curiosity  as  to  your  adventures  there  :  and  it  is  just 
now  our  especial  desire  to  hear  something  of  your  voyage 
home." 

"In  truth,"  replied  Mrs.  Fenton,  "I  must  explain,  that  on 
this,  the  first  evening  of  my  return,  I  feel  too  happy,  and  too 
much  excited,  to  talk  systematically  on  any  subject  whatever; 
much  less  to  arrange  my  ideas  into  the  form  of  a  history.  To 
morrow  I  shall  be  engaged  all  day  at  my  own  house  :  for  I 
must  preside  at  the  awakening  of  numerous  articles  of  furni 
ture  that  have  been  indulged  during  our  absence  with  a  long 
slumber;  some  being  covered  up  in  cases,  and  some  shut  up 
in  closets,  or  disrespectfully  imprisoned  in  the  attics.  But  I 
will  come  over  in  the  evening ;  and,  if  we  are  not  interrupted 
by  visitors,  I  will  read  you  some  memorandums  that  I  made 
on  the  passage.  I  kept  no  regular  journal,  but  I  wrote  a  little 
now  and  then,  chiefly  for  my  amusement,  and  to  diversify  my 
usual  occupations  of  reading,  sewing,  and  walking  the  deck. 
Therefore  excuse  me  to-night,  and  let  me  have  my  humour, 


THAT  GENTLEMAN.  335 

for  I  feel  exactly  in  the  vein  to  talk  '  an  infinite  deal  of 
nothing/ " 

"  Aunt  Caroline,"  said  Clara,  "  you  know  that,  talk  as  you 
will,  we  always  like  to  hear  you.  But  we  shall  long  for  to 
morrow  evening." 

"  Do  not,  however,  expect  a  finished  picture  of  a  sea-voyage," 
said  Mrs.  Fenton,  "  I  can  only  promise  you  a  few  slight  out 
lines,  filled  up  with  a  half  tint,  and  without  lights  or  shadows ; 
like  the  things  that  the  Chinese  sometimes  paint  on  their  tea- 
chests." 

On  the  following  evening,  the  gentlemen  having  gone  to  a 
public  meeting,  and  measures  being  taken  for  the  exclusion 
of  visiters,  Mrs.  Esdale  and  her  daughters  seated  themselves 
at  the  table  with  their  work,  and  Mrs.  Fenton  produced  her 
manuscript  book,  and  read  as  follows :  having  first  reminded 
her  auditors  that  her  husband  and  herself,  instead  of  embark 
ing  at  London,  had  gone  by  land  to  Portsmouth,  and  from 
thence  crossed  over  to  the  Isle  of  Wight,  where  they  took 
apartments  at  the  principal  hotel  in  the  little  town  of  Cowes, 
at  which  place  the  ship  was  to  touch  on  her  way  down  the 
British  channel. 


Having  amply  availed  ourselves  of  the  opportunity  (afforded 
by  a  three  days'  sojourn)  of  exploring  the  beauties  of  the  Isle 
of  Wight,  we  felt  some  impatience  to  find  ourselves  fairly 
afloat,  and  actually  on  our  passage  "  o'er  the  glad  waters  of 
the  dark  blue  sea."  On  the  fourth  afternoon,  we  walked  down 
to  the  beach,  and  strolled  amid  shells  and  sea-weed,  along  the 
level  sands  at  the  foot  of  a  range  of  those  chalky  cliffs  that 
characterize  the  southern  coast  of  England.  It  was  a  lovely 
clay.  A  breeze  from  the  west  was  ruffling  the  crests  of  the 
green  transparent  waves,  and  wafting  a  few  light  clouds  across 
the  effulgence  of  the  declining  sun,  whose  beams  danced  ra 
diantly  on  the  surface  of  the  water,  gilding  the  black  and  red 
sails  of  the  fishing-boats,  and  then  withdrawing,  at  intervals, 
and  leaving  the  sea  in  shade. 

"  Should  this  wind  continue,"  said  Mr.  Fenton,  "  we  may 
be  detained  here  a  week,  and  have  full  leisure  to  clamber 
again  among  the  ruins  of  Carisbrook  Castle,  and  to  gaze  at  the 
cloven  chalk-rocks  of  Shankline  Chine,  and  the  other  wonders 
of  this  pleasant  little  island." 

We  then  approached  an  old  disabled  sailor,  who  was  smoking 


THAT  GENTLEMAN, 

his  pipe,  seated  on  a  dismantled  cannon  that  lay  prostrate  on 
the  sands,  its  iron  mouth  choked  up  with  the  sea-weed  that 
the  tide  had  washed  into  it;  and  on  entering  into  conver 
sation  with  him,  we  found  that  he  was  an  out-pensioner  of 
Greenwich  hospital,  and  that  for  the  last  ten  years  he  had 
passed  most  of  his  time  about  Portsmouth  and  the  Isle  of 
Wight. 

"  Have  you  ever  known  a  ship  come  down  from  London 
with  such  a  wind  as  this  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Fenton. 

"No,"  replied  the  sailor. — "After  she  doubles  Beachy 
Head,  this  wind  would  be  right  in  her  teeth." 

"  Then,"  said  Mr.  Fenton,  turning  to  me — "  till  it  changes, 
we  may  give  up  all  hope  of  seeing  our  gallant  vessel." 

"  What  ship  are  you  looking  for  ?"  asked  the  sailor. 

"  The  Washington." 

"  Oh  !  an  American  ship — ay,  she'll  come  down.  Tliey  can 
make  their  way  with  any  sort  of  wind."* 

He  had  scarcely  spoken,  when  the  flag  of  our  country  ap 
peared  beyond  the  point,  its  bright  stars  half  obscured  by  the 
ample  folds  of  the  white  and  crimson  stripes  that,  blown  back 
ward  by  the  adverse  breeze,  were  waving  across  them.  In  a 
moment  the  snowy  sails  of  the  Washington  came  full  into 
view,  shaded  with  purple  by  the  setting  sun. 

"  There  she  is  !"  exclaimed  my  husband.  "  There  she  comes 
— is  not  an  American  ship  one  of  the  most  beautiful  objects 
created  by  the  hand  of  man  ?  Well,  indeed,  do  they  merit 
the  admiration  that  is  so  frankly  accorded  to  them  by  every 
nation  of  the  earth." 

My  husband,  in  his  enthusiasm,  shook  the  hand  of  the  old 
sailor,  and  slipped  some  money  into  it.  We  remained  on  the 
beach  looking  at  the  ship  till 

" o'er  her  bow  the  rustling  cable  rung, 

The  sails  were  furl'd;  and  anchoring  round  she  swung." 

A  boat  was  then  lowered  from  her  stern,  and  the  captain 
came  off  in  it.  He  walked  with  us  to  the  hotel,  and  informed 
us  that  he  should  leave  Cowes  early  the  following  day.  We 
soon  completed  the  preparations  for  our  final  departure,  and 
before  eight  o'clock  next  morning  we  had  taken  our  last  step 
on  British  ground,  and  were  installed  in  our  new  abode  on  the 

*  This  implied  compliment  to  our  vessels  and  seamen  was  really 
made  by  a  British  sailor,  in  a  similar  conversation  with  an  American 
gentleman. 


THAT  GENTLEMAN.  837 

world  of  waters.  Several  of  the  passengers  had  come  down 
in  the  ship  from  London ;  others,  like  ourselves,  had  preferred 
commencing  their  voyage  from  the  Isle  of  Wight ;  and  some, 
as  we  understood,  were  to  join  us  at  Plymouth. 

We  sailed  immediately.  The  breeze  freshened,  and  that 
night  and  the  next  day,  there  was  much  general  discomfort 
from  sea-sickness;  but,  fortunately  for  us  both,  I  was  very 
slightly  aifected  by  that  distressing  malady,  and  Mr.  Fenton 
not  at  all. 

On  the  third  day,  we  were  enabled  to  lay  our  course  with  a 
fair  wind  and  a  clear  sky :  the  coast  of  Cornwall  looking  like 
a  succession  of  low  white  clouds  ranged  along  the  edge  of  the 
northern  horizon.  Towards  evening  we  passed  the  Lizard,  to 
see  land  no  more  till  we  should  descry  it  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Atlantic.  As  Mr.  Fenton  and  myself  leaned  over  the 
taffrail,  and  saw  the  last  point  of  England  fade  dimly  from  our 
view,  we  thought  with  regret  of  the  shore  we  were  leaving 
behind  us,  and  of  much  that  we  had  seen,  and  known,  and 
enjoyed  in  that  country  of  which  all  that  remained  to  our 
lingering  gaze  was  a  dark  spot  so  distant  and  so  small  as  to 
be  scarcely  perceptible.  Soon  we  could  discern  it  no  longer : 
and  nothing  of  Europe  was  now  left  to  us  but  the  indelible 
recollections  that  it  has  impressed  upon  our  minds.  We  turned 
towards  the  region  of  the  descending  sun — 

"  To  where  his  setting  splendours  burn 
Upon  the  western  sea-maid's  urn," 

and  we  vainly  endeavoured  to  direct  all  our  thoughts  and  feel 
ings  towards  our  home  beyond  the  ocean — our  beloved  Ameri 
can  home. 

On  that  night,  as  on  many  others,  when  our  ship  was  career 
ing  through  the  sea,  with  her  yards  squared,  and  her  sails  all 
trimmed  to  a  fresh  and  favouring  breeze,  while  we  sat  on  a 
sofa  in  the  lesser  cabin,  and  looked  up  through  the  open  sky 
light  at  the  stars  that  seemed  flying  over  our  heads,  we  talked 
of  the  land  we  had  so  recently  quitted.  We  talked  of  her 
people,  who  though  differing  from  ours  in  a  thousand  minute 
particulars,  are  still  essentially  the  same.  Our  laws,  our  in 
stitutions,  our  manners,  and  our  customs  are  derived  from 
theirs :  we  are  benefited  by  the  same  arts,  we  are  enlightened 
by  the  same  sciences.  Their  noble  and  copious  language  is 
fortunately  ours — their  Shakspeare  also  belongs  to  us;  and 
we  rejoice  that  we  can  possess  ourselves  of  his  "  thoughts  that 


838  THAT  GENTLEMAN. 

breathe,  and  words  that  burn,"  in  all  their  original  freshness 
and  splendour,  unobscured  by  the  mist  of  translation.  Though 
the  ocean  divides  our  dwelling-places :  though  the  sword  and 
the  cannon-shot  have  sundered  the  bonds  that  once  united  us 
to  her  dominion :  though  the  misrepresentations  of  travelling 
adventurers  have  done  much  to  foster  mutual  prejudices,  and 
to  embitter  mutual  jealousies,  still  we  share  the  pride  of  our 
parent  in  the  glorious  beings  she  can  number  among  the 
children  of  her  island  home,  for 

"Yet  lives  the  blood  of  England  in  our  veins." 

On  the  fourth  day  of  our  departure  from  the  Isle  of  Wight, 
we  found  ourselves  several  hundred  miles  from  land,  and  con 
signed  to  the  solitudes  of  that  ocean-desert,  "  dark-heaving — 
boundless — endless — and  sublime" — whose  travellers  find  no 
path  before  them,  and  leave  no  track  behind.  But  the  wind 
was  favourable,  the  sky  was  bright,  the  passengers  had  re 
covered  their  health  and  spirits,  and  for  the  first  time  were  all 
able  to  present  themselves  at  the  dinner-table ;  and  there  was 
really  what  might  be  termed  a  (( goodly  company." 

It  is  no  longer  the  custom  in  American  packet  ships  for 
ladies  to  persevere  in  what  is  called  a  sea-dress :  that  is,  a  sort 
of  dishabille  prepared  expressly  for  the  voyage.  Those  who  are 
not  well  enough  to  devote  some  little  time  and  attention  to 
their  personal  appearance,  rarely  come  to  the  general  table, 
but  take  their  meals  in  their  own  apartment.  The  gentlemen, 
also,  pay  as  much  respect  to  their  toilet  as  when  on  shore. 

The  coup  d'ceil  of  the  dinner-table  very  much  resembles 
that  of  a  fashionable  hotel.  All  the  appurtenances  of  the 
repast  are  in  handsome  style.  The  eatables  are  many  of  them 
such  as,  even  on  shore,  would  be  considered  delicacies,  and 
they  are  never  deficient  in  abundance  and  variety.  Whatever 
may  be  the  state  of  the  weather,  or  the  motion  of  the  ship, 
the  steward  and  the  cook  are  unfailing  in  their  duty;  con 
stantly  fulfilling  their  arduous  functions  with  the  same  care 
and  regularity.  The  breakfast-table  is  always  covered  with  a 
variety  of  relishes,  and  warm  cakes.  At  noon  there  is  a 
luncheon  of  pickled  oysters,  cold  ham,  tongue,  &c.  The  din 
ner  consists  of  fowls,  ducks,  geese,  turkeys,  fresh  pork  or  mut 
ton  ;  for  every  ship  is  well  supplied  with  live  poultry,  pigs 
and  sheep.  During  the  first  week  of  the  voyage  there  is  gene 
rally  fresh  beef  on  the  table,  it  being  brought  on  board  from 
the  last  place  at  which  the  vessel  has  touched :  and  it  is  kept 


THAT   GENTLEMAN.  339 

on  deck  wrapped  closely  in  a  sail-cloth,  and  attached  to  one  of 
the  masts,  the  salt  atmosphere  preserving  it.  Every  day  at 
the  dessert  there  are  delicious  pies  and  puddings,  followed  by 
almonds,  raisins,  oranges,  &c. ',  and  the  tea-table  is  profusely 
set  out  with  rich  cakes  and  sweetmeats.  For  the  sick  there  is 
always  an  ample  store  of  sago,  arrow-root,  pearl-barley,  tama 
rinds,  &c.  Many  persons  have  an  opportunity,  during  their 
passage  across  the  Atlantic,  of  living  more  luxuriously  than 
they  have  ever  done  in  their  lives,  or  perhaps  ever  will  again. 

Our  passengers  were  not  too  numerous.  The  lesser  cabin 
was  appropriated  to  three  other  ladies  and  myself.  It  formed 
our  drawing-room  j  the  gentlemen  being  admitted  only  as 
visiters.  One  of  the  ladies  was  Mrs.  Calcott,  an  amiable  and 
intelligent  woman,  who  was  returning  with  her  husband  from 
a  long  residence  in  England.  Another  was  Miss  Harriet 
Audley,  a  very  pretty  and  very  lively  young  lady  from  Vir 
ginia,  who  had  been  visiting  a  married  sister  in  London,  and 
was  now  on  her  way  home  under  the  care  of  the  captain,  ex 
pecting  to  meet  her  father  in  New  York.  We  were  much 
amused  during  the  voyage  with  the  coquetry  of  our  fair  Vir 
ginian,  as  she  aimed  her  arrows  at  nearly  all  the  single  gentle 
men  in  turn ;  and  with  her  frankness  in  openly  talking  of  her 
designs,  and  animadverting  on  their  good  or  ill  success.  The 
gentlemen,  with  the  usual  vanity  of  their  sex,  always  believed 
Miss  Audley's  attacks  on  their  hearts  to  be  made  in  earnest, 
and  that  she  was  deeply  smitten  with  each  of  them  in  succes 
sion  ;  notwithstanding  that  the  smile  in  her  eye  was  far  more 
frequent  than  the  blush  on  her  cheek ;  and  notwithstanding 
that  rumour  had  asserted  the  existence  of  a  certain  cavalier 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Richmond,  whose  constancy  it  was 
supposed  she  would  eventually  reward  with  her  hand,  as  he 
might  be  considered,  in  every  sense  of  the  term,  an  excellent 
match. 

Our  fourth  female  passenger  was  Mrs.  Cummings,  a  plump, 
rosy-faced  old  lady  of  remarkably  limited  ideas,  who  had  lite 
rally  passed  her  whole  life  in  the  city  of  London.  Having 
been  recently  left  a  widow,  she  had  broken  up  housekeeping, 
and  was  now  on  her  way  to  join  a  son  established  in  New 
York,  who  had  very  kindly  sent  for  her  to  come  over  and  live 
with  him.  The  rest  of  the  world  was  almost  a  sealed  book  to 
her,  but  she  talked  a  great  deal  of  the  Minories,  the  Poultry, 
the  Old  Jewry,  Cheapside,  Long  Acre,  Bishopsgate  Within, 


340  THAT   GENTLEMAN. 

and  Bishopsgate  Without,  and  other  streets  and  places  with 
appellations  equally  expressive. 

The  majority  of  the  male  passengers  were  pleasant  and  com 
panionable — and  we  thought  we  had  Been  them  all  in  the 
course  of  the  first  three  days — but  on  the  fourth,  we  heard 
the  captain  say  to  one  of  the  waiters,  "  Juba,  ask  that  gentle 
man  if  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  taking  wine  with  him." 
My  eyes  now  involuntarily  followed  the  direction  of  Juba's 
movements,  feeling  some  curiosity  to  know  who  "  that  gentle 
man"  was,  as  I  now  recollected  having  frequently  heard  the 
epithet  within  the  last  few  days.  For  instance,  when  almost 
every  one  was  confined  by  sea-sickness  to  their  state-rooms,  I 
had  seen  the  captain  despatch  a  servant  to  inquire  of  that  gen 
tleman  if  he  would  have  anything  sent  to  him  from  the  table. 
Also,  I  had  heard  Hamilton,  the  steward,  call  out, — "  There, 
boys,  don't  you  hear  that  gentleman  ring  his  bell — why  don't 
you  run  spontaneously — jump,  one  of  you,  to  number  eleven- 
teen."  I  was  puzzled  for  a  moment  to  divine  which  state 
room  bore  the  designation  of  eleventeen,  but  concluded  it  to 
be  one  of  the  many  unmeaning  terms  that  characterize  the 
phraseology  of  our  coloured  people.  Once  or  twice  I  wondered 
who  that  gentleman  could  be ;  but  something  else  happened 
immediately  to  divert  my  attention. 

Now,  when  I  heard  Captain  Santlow  propose  taking  wine 
with  him,  I  concluded  that,  of  course,  that  gentleman  must 
be  visible  in  proprid  personcl,  and,  casting  my  eyes  towards 
the  lower  end  of  the  table,  I  perceived  a  genteel-looking  man 
whom  I  had  not  seen  before.  He  was  apparently  of  no  par 
ticular  age,  and  there  ^  is  nothing  in  his  face  that  could  lead 
any  one  to  guess  at  his  country.  He  might  have  been  Eng 
lish,  Scotch,  Irish,  or  American ;  but  he  had  none  of  the 
characteristic  marks  of  either  nation.  He  filled  his  glass,  and 
bowing  his  head  to  Captain  Santlow,  who  congratulated  him 
on  his  recovery,  he  swallowed  his  wine  in  silence.  There  was 
an  animated  conversation  going  on  near  the  head  of  the  table, 
between  Miss  Audley  and  two  of  her  beaux,  and  we  thought 
no  more  of  him. 

At  the  close  of  the  dessert,  we  happened  to  know  that  he 
had  quitted  the  table  and  gone  on  deck,  by  one  of  the  waiters 
coming  down  and  requesting  Mr.  Overslaugh  (who  was  sitting 
a-tilt,  while  discussing  his  walnuts,  with  his  chair  balanced  on 
one  leg,  and  his  head  leaning  against  the  wainscot)  to  let  him 
pass  for  a  moment,  while  he  went  into  No.  eleventeen  for  that 


THAT   GENTLEMAN.  341 

gentleman's  overcoat.  I  now  found  that  the  servants  had 
converted  No.  13  into  eleventeen.  By-the-bye,  that  gentle 
man  had  a  state-room  all  to  himself,  sometimes  occupying  the 
upper  and  sometimes  the  under  berth. 

"  Captain  Santlow,"  said  Mr.  Fenton,  "  allow  me  to  ask  you 
the  name  of  that  gentleman." 

"  Oh  !  I  don't  know" — replied  the  captain,  trying  to  sup 
press  a  smile — "  at  least  I  have  forgotten  it — some  English 
name ;  for  he  is  an  Englishman — he  came  on  board  at  Ply 
mouth,  and  his  indisposition  commenced  immediately.  Mrs. 
Cummings,  shall  I  have  the  pleasure  of  peeling  an  orange  for 
you  ?" 

I  now  recollected  a  little  incident  which  had  set  me  laugh 
ing  soon  after  we  left  Plymouth,  and  when  we  were  beating 
down  the  coast  of  Devonshire.  I  had  been  trying  to  write  at 
the  table  in  the  Ladies'  Cabin,  but  it  was  one  of  those  days 
when 

"Our  paper,  pen  and  ink,  and  we 
Roll  up  and  down  our  ships  at  sea." 

And  all  I  could  do  was  to  take  refuge  in  my  berth,  and  en 
deavour  to  read,  leaving  the  door  open  for  more  air.  My 
attention,  however,  was  continually  withdrawn  from  my  book 
by  the  sound  of  things  that  were  dislodged  from  their  places, 
sliding  or  falling,  and  frequently  suffering  destruction ;  though 
sometimes  miraculously  escaping  unhurt. 

While  I  was  watching  the  progress  of  two  pitchers  that  had 
been  tossed  out  of  the  washing-stand,  and  after  deluging  the 
floor  with  water,  had  met  in  the  Ladies'  Cabin,  and  were  rol 
ling  amicably  side  by  side,  without  happening  to  break  each 
other,  I  saw  a  barrel  of  flour  start  from  the  steward's  pantry, 
and  running  across  the  dining-room,  stop  at  a  gentleman  that 
lay  extended  in  a  lower  berth  with  his  room  door  open,  and 
pour  out  its  contents  upon  him,  completely  enveloping  him  in 
a  fog  of  meal.  I  heard  the  steward,  who  was  busily  engaged 
in  mopping  up  the  water  that  had  flowed  from  the  pitchers, 
call  out,  "  Kun,  boys,  run,  that  gentleman's  smothering  up  in 
flour — go  take  the  barrel  off  him — jump,  I  tell  you  !" 

How  that  gentleman  acted  while  hidden  in  the  cloud  of 
flour,  I  could  not  perceive,  and  immediately  the  closing  of  the 
folding  doors  shut  out  the  scene. 

For  a  few  days  after  he  appeared  among  us,  there  was  some 
speculation  with  regard  to  this  nameless  stranger,  whose  taci- 


342  THAT   GENTLEMAN. 

turnity  seemed  his  chief  characteristic.  One  morning  while 
we  were  looking  at  the  gambols  of  a  shoal  of  porpoises  that 
were  tumbling  through  the  waves  and  sometimes  leaping  out 
of  them,  my  husband  made  some  remark  on  the  clumsy  antics 
of  this  unsightly  fish,  addressing  himself,  for  the  first  time,  to 
the  unknown  Englishman,  who  happened  to  be  standing  near 
him.  That  gentleman  smiled  affably,  but  made  no  reply. 
Mr.  Fenton  pursued  the  subject — and  that  gentleman  smiled 
still  more  affably,  and  walked  away. 

Nevertheless,  he  was  neither  deaf  nor  dumb,  nor  melancholy, 
but  had  only  "  a  great  talent  for  silence, "  and  as  is  usually  the 
case  with  persons  whose  genius  lies  that  way,  he  was  soon  left 
entirely  to  himself,  no  one  thinking  it  worth  while  to  take  the 
trouble  of  extracting  words  from  him.  In  truth,  he  was  so 
impracticable,  and  at  the  same  time  so  evidently  insignificant, 
and  so  totally  uninteresting,  that  his  fellow-passengers  tacitly 
conveyed  him  to  Coventry ;  and  in  Coventry  he  seemed  per 
fectly  satisfied  to  dwell.  Once  or  twice  Captain  Santlow  was 
asked  again  if  he  recollected  the  name  of  that  gentleman  ]  but 
he  always  replied  with  a  sort  of  smile,  "I  cannot  say  I  do — 
not  exactly,  at  least — but  I'll  look  at  my  manifest  and  see" 
— and  he  never  failed  to  turn  the  conversation  to  something 
else. 

The  only  person  that  persisted  in  occasionally  talking  to 
that  gentleman,  was  old  Mrs.  Cummings ;  and  she  confided  to 
him  her  perpetual  alarms  at  "  the  perils  of  the  sea,"  consider 
ing  him  a  good  hearer,  as  he  never  made  any  reply,  and  was 
always  disengaged,  and  sitting  and  standing  about,  apparently 
at  leisure  while  the  other  gentlemen  were  occupied  in  reading, 
writing,  playing  chess,  walking  the  deck,  &c. 

Whenever  the  ship  was  struck  by  a  heavy  sea,  and  after 
quivering  with  the  shock,  remained  motionless  for  a  moment 
before  she  recovered  herself  and  rolled  the  other  way,  poor 
Mrs.  Cummings  supposed  that  we  had  run  against  a  rock,  and 
could  not  be  convinced  that  rocks  were  not  dispersed  every 
where  about  the  open  ocean.  And  as  that  gentleman  never 
attempted  to  undeceive  her  on  this  or  any  other  subject,  but 
merely  listened  with  a  placid  smile,  she  believed  that  he 
always  thought  precisely  as  she  did.  She  not  unfrequcntly 
discussed  to  him,  in  an  under  tone,  the  obstinacy  and  incivility 
of  the  captain,  who  she  averred,  with  truth,  had  never  in  any 
one  instance  had  the  politeness  to  stop  the  ship,  often  as  she 
had  requested,  nay  implored  him  to  do  so  even  when  she  was 


THAT  GENTLEMAN.  343 

suffering  with  sea-sickness,  and  actually  tossed  out  of  her 
berth  by  the  violence  of  the  storm ,  though  she  was  holding  on 
with  both  hands. 

One  day,  while  we  were  all  three  sitting  in  the  round-house 
(that  very  pleasant  little  saloon  on  the  upper  deck,  at  the  head 
of  the  cabin-staircase),  my  attention  was  diverted  from  my  book 
by  hearing  Mrs.  Cummings  say  to  that  gentleman,  "  Pray,  sir, 
can  you  tell  me  what  is  the  matter  with  that  poor  man's  head  ? 
I  mean  the  man  that  has  to  stand  always  at  the  wheel  there, 
holding  it  fast  and  turning  it.  I  hear  the  captain  call  out  to 
him  every  now  and  then  (and  in  a  very  rough  voice  too, 
sometimes),  '  How  is  your  head  ?'  and  '  How  is  your  head  now  ?' 
I  cannot  understand  what  the  man  says  in  answer,  so  I  suppose 
he  speaks  American;  but  the  captain  often  tells  him  Ho  keep 
it  steady/  And  once  I  heard  the  captain  call  out  '  Port — 
port/  which  I  was  very  glad  of,  concluding  that  the  poor 
fellow  had  nearly  given  out,  and  he  was  ordering  a  glass  of 
port  wine  to  revive  him.  Do  you  think,  sir,  that  the  poor 
man  at  the  wheel  has  a  constant  headache  like  my  friend  Mrs. 
Dawlish  of  Leadenhall  street,  or  that  he  has  hurt  his  head 
somehow,  by  falling  out  of  the  sails,  or  tumbling  down  the 
ropeladders — (there  now — we've  struck  a  rock  ! — mercy  on 
us — what  a  life  we  lead  !  I  wish  I  was  on  Ludgate  Hill.) 
Talking  of  hurts,  I  have  not  escaped  them  myself,  for  I've  had 
my  falls ;  and  yet  the  captain  is  so  rude  as  to  turn  a  deaf  ear, 
and  keeps  sailing  on  all  the  same,  even  when  the  breath  is 
nearly  knocked  out  of  me,  and  though  I've  offered  several 
times  to  pay  him  for  stopping,  but  he  only  laughs  at  me. 
By-the-bye,  when  I  go  back  again  to  dear  old  England,  and 
I'm  sorry  enough  that  I  ever  left  it  (as  Mr.  Stackhouse,  the 
great  corn-chandler  in  Whitechapel,  told  me  I  certainly  should 
be),  I'll  see  and  take  my  passage  with  a  captain  that  has  more 
feeling  for  the  ladies.  As  for  this  one,  he  never  lets  the  ship 
rest  a  minute,  but  he  keeps  forcing  her  on  day  and  night.  I 
doubt  whether  she'll  last  the  voyage  out,  with  all  this  wear 
and  tear — and  then  if  she  should  give  in,  what's  to  become 
of  us  all  ?  If  he  would  only  let  her  stand  still  while  we  are 
at  table,  that  we  might  eat  our  dinners  in  peace  ! — though  it's 
seldom  I'm  well  enough  to  eat  anything  to  speak  of — I  often 
make  my  whole  dinner  of  the  leg  and  wing  of  a  goose,  and  a 
slice  or  two  of  plum-pudding;  but  there's  no  comfort  in 
eating,  when  we  are  one  minute  thrown  forward  with  our 
29 


344  THAT   GENTLEMAN. 

heads  bowing  down  to  the  very  table-cloth,  and  the  next- 
minute  flung  back  with  them  knocking  against  the  wall." 

"  There  was  the  other  day  at  breakfast  you  know,  we  had 
all  the  cabin  windows  shut  up  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
which  they  called  putting  in  the  dead-lights — (I  cannot  see 
why  shutters  should  be  called  lights) — and  they  put  the  lid  on 
the  sky-light,  and  made  it  so  dark  that  we  had  to  breakfast 
with  lamps.  There  must  have  been  some  strange  mismanage 
ment,  or  we  need  not  have  been  put  to  all  that  inconve 
nience  ;  and  then  when  the  ship  almost  fell  over,  they  let  a 
great  flood  of  sea  come  pouring  down  among  us,  sweeping  the 
plates  off  the  table,  and  washing  the  very  cups  out  of  our 
hands,  and  filling  our  mouths  with  salt  water,  and  ruining  our 
dresses.  I  wonder  what  my  friend  Mrs.  Danks,  of  Crutched 
Friars,  would  say  if  she  had  all  this  to  go  through — she  that 
is  so  afraid  of  the  water,  she  won't  go  over  London  Bridge  for 
fear  it  should  break  down  with  her,  and  therefore  visits  nobody 
that  lives  in  the  Borough — there  now — a  rock  again  !  I  wish 
I  was  in  St.  Paul's  Church  Yard  !  Dear  me  ! — what  will  be 
come  of  us  ?" 

"  Upon  my  word  I  can't  tell,"  said  that  gentleman,  as  he 
rose  and  walked  out  on  deck. 

I  then  endeavoured  to  set  the  old  lady  right,  by  explaining 
to  her  that  the  business  of  the  man  at  the  wheel  was  to  steer 
the  vessel,  and  that  he  was  not  always  the  same  person,  the 
helmsman  being  changed  at  regular  periods.  I  also  made  her 
understand  that  the  captain  only  meant  to  ask  in  what  direction 
was  the  head  of  the  ship — and  that  u  port — port,"  signified 
that  he  should  put  up  the  helm  to  the  larboard  or  left  side. 

I  could  not  forbear  repeating  to  Captain  Santlow  the 
ludicrous  mistake  of  Mrs.  Cummings,  and  her  unfounded 
sympathy  for  the  man  at  the  wheel.  He  laughed,  and  said  it 
reminded  him  of  a  story  he  had  heard  concerning  an  old  Irish 
woman,  a  steerage  passenger,  that  early  in  the  morning  after  a 
stormy  night,  was  found  by  the  mate,  cautiously  creeping 
along  the  deck  and  looking  round  at  every  step,  with  a  bottle 
of  whiskey  half-concealed  under  her  apron.  On  the  mate  ask 
ing  her  what  she  was  going  to  do  with  the  whiskey,  she  replied, 
"I'm  looking  for  that  cratur  Bill  Lay,  that  ye  were  all  calling 
upon  the  whole  night  long,  and  not  giving  him  a  minute  to 
rest  himself.  I  lay  in  my  bed  and  I  heard  ye  tramping  and 
shouting  over  head  ! — 'twas  nothing  but  Bill  Lay*  here,  and 

*  Belay — a  sea-term,  signifying  to  secure  or  make  fast  a  rope. 


THAT   GENTLEMAN.  845 

Bill  Lay  there,  and  Bill  Lay  this,  and  Bill  Lay  that — and  a 
weary  time  he's  had  of  it — for  it  was  yourselves  that  could  do 
nothing  without  him,  great  shame  to  ye.  And  I  thought  I'd 
try  and  find  him  out,  the  sowl,  and  bring  him  a  drop  of  com 
fort,  for  it's  himself  that  nades  it." 

Mrs.  Cummings's  compassion  for  the  helmsman  was  changed 
into  a  somewhat  different  feeling  a  few  days  after.  The  cap 
tain  and  Mr.  Fenton  were  sitting  near  the  wheel  earnestly 
engaged  in  a  game  of  chess.  The  wind  had  been  directly 
a-head  for  the  last  twenty-four  hours,  and  several  of  the  pas 
sengers  were  pacing  the  deck,  and  looking  alternately  at  the 
sails  and  the  dog-vane — suddenly  there  was  an  exclamation 
from  one  of  them,  of  "Captain — captain — the  wind  has 
changed — it  has  just  gone  about !"  Captain  Santlow  started 
up,  and  perceived  that  the  little  flag  was  apparently  blowing  in 
another  direction  j  but  on  looking  at  the  compass,  he  discovered 
the  truth — it  was  now  found  that  the  steersman,  who  happened 
to  understand  chess,  was  so  interested  with  the  game  which 
was  playing  immediately  before  him,  that  he  had  for  a  moment 
forgotten  his  duty,  and  inadvertently  allowed  the  head  of  the 
ship  to  fall  off  half  a  dozen  points  from  the  wind.  The  error 
was  immediately  rectified ;  and  Captain  Santlow  (who  never 
on  any  occasion  lost  his  temper)  said  coolly  to  the  helmsman, 
"  For  this,  sir,  your  grog  shall  be  stopped." 

This  little  incident  afforded  an  additional  excitement  to  the 
ever-ready  fears  of  Mrs.  Cummings,  who  now  took  it  into  her 
head  that  if  (as  she  phrased  it)  the  wheel  was  turned  the 
wrong  way,  it  would  overset  the  ship.  Upon  finding  that  the 
delinquent  was  an  American,  she  opined  that  there  could  be 
no  safety  in  a  vessel  where  the  sailors  understood  chess.  And 
whenever  .we  had  a  fresh  breeze  (such  as  she  always  persisted 
in  calling  a  violent  storm)  she  was  very  importunate  with  the 
captain  not  to  allow  the  chess-man  to  take  the  wheel. 

"  Ah !"  said  Mrs.  Cummings,  "  I  am  sure  there  is  no  such 
thing  in  his  majesty's  ships,  as  sailors  knowing  chess  or  any 
of  those  hard  things  that  are  enough  to  set  one  crazy  to  think 
of.  In  my  own  dear  country,  people  are  saving  of  their  wits  'y 
but  you  Americans  always  know  more  of  everything  than  you 
ought  to.  I  don't  wonder  so  few  of  you  look  plump  and 
ruddy.  You  all  wear  yourselves  out  with  head-work.  Your 
eyes  are  not  half  so  big  as  ours,  for  they  are  fairly  sunk  in 
your  heads  with  thinking  and  contriving.  To  be  sure,  at  our 
house  in  the  Minories  we  always  kept  a  pack  of  cards  in  the 


346  THAT   GENTLEMAN. 

parlour  closet.  But  we  never  played  any  but  very  easy  games, 
for  it  was  not  our  way  to  make  a  toil  of  pleasure.  (Mercy  on 
me  ! — what  a  rock  ! — I  wish  I  was  at  the  Back  of  St.  Cle 
ments  !) — How  I  have  seen  the  Potheridge  family  in  Throg- 
morton  street,  ponder  and  study  over  a  game  of  whist  as  if 
their  lives  depended  on  every  card.  I  had  to  play  whist 
whenever  I  drank  tea  there,  for  they  were  never  satisfied  unless 
they  were  at  it  every  night ;  and  I  hated  it,  because  I  always 
happened  to  get  old  Miss  Nancy  for  a  partner,  and  she  was  so 
sharp  and  so  cross,  and  was  continually  finding  fault  with  me 
for  something  she  called  reneaging.  Whenever  I  gave  out 
that  I  was  one  by  honours,  she  always  said  it  was  no  such 
thing ;  and  she  downright  scolded,  when  after  she  had  played 
an  ace  I  played  a  king ;  or  when  she  had  trumped  first  and  I 
made  all  sure  by  trumping  too.  Now  what  I  say  is  this — a 
trick  can't  be  too  well  taken.  But  I'm  not  for  whist — give 
me  a  good  easy  game  where  you  can't  go  wrong,  such  as  I've 
been  used  to  all  my  life ;  though,  no  doubt  when  I  get  to 
America,  I  shall  find  my  son  Jacky  playing  chess  and  whist 
and  despising  Beggar  my  neighbour." 

In  less  than  a  fortnight  after  we  left  the  British  Channel, 
we  were  off  the  Banks  of  Newfoundland ;  and,  as  is  frequently 
the  case  in  their  vicinity,  we  met  with  cold  foggy  weather. 
It  cleared  a  little  about  seven  in  the  morning,  and  we  then 
discovered  no  less  than  three  ice-bergs  to  leeward.  One  of 
them,  whose  distance  from  us  was  perhaps  a  mile,  appeared 
higher  than  the  main-mast  head,  and  as  the  top  shot  up  into 
a  tall  column,  it  looked  like  a  vast  rock  with  a  light-house  on 
its  pinnacle.  As  the  cold  and  watery  sunbeams  gleamed  fit 
fully  upon  it,  it  exhibited  in  some  places  the  rainbow  tints  of 
a  prism — other  parts  were  of  a  dazzling  white,  while  its  sharp 
angular  projections  seemed  like  masses  of  diamonds  glittering 
upon  snow. 

The  fog  soon  became  so  dense,  that  in  looking  over  the  side 
of  the  ship  we  could  not  discern  the  sea.  Fortunately,  it  was 
so  calm  that  we  scarcely  moved,  or  the  danger  of  driving  on 
the  ice-bergs  would  have  been  terrific.  We  had  now  no  other 
means  of  ascertaining  our  distance  from  them,  but  by  trying 
the  temperature  of  the  water  with  a  thermometer. 

In  the  afternoon,  the  fog  gathered  still  more  thickly  round 
us,  and  dripped  from  the  rigging,  so  that  the  sailors  were  con 
tinually  swabbing  the  deck.  I  had  gone  with  Mr.  Fenton  to 
the  round-house,  and  looked  a  while  from  its  windows  on  the 


THAT   GENTLEMAN.  347 

comfortless  scene  without.  The  only  persons  then  on  the 
main-deck  were  the  captain  and  the  first  mate.  They  were 
wrapped  in  their  watch-coats,  their  hair  and  whiskers  drip 
ping  with  the  fog-dew.  Most  of  the  passengers  went  to  bed 
at  an  early  hour,  and  soon  all  was  awfully  still ;  Mrs.  Cum- 
mings  being  really  too  much  frightened  to  talk,  only  that  she 
sometimes  wished  herself  in  Shoreditch,  and  sometimes  in 
Houndsditch.  It  was  a  night  of  real  danger.  The  captain 
remained  on  deck  till  morning,  and  several  of  the  gentlemen 
bore  him  company,  being  too  anxious  to  stay  below. 

About  daybreak,  a  heavy  shower  of  rain  dispersed  the  fog 
— "  the  conscious  vessel  waked  as  from  a  trance" — a  breeze 
sprung  up  that  carried  us  out  of  danger  from  the  ice-bergs, 
which  were  soon  diminished  to  three  specks  on  the  horizon, 
and  the  sun  rose  bright  and  cheerfully. 

Towards  noon,  the  ladies  recollected  that  none  of  them  had 
seen  that  gentleman  during  the  last  twenty-four  hours,  and 
some  apprehension  was  expressed  lest  he  should  have  walked 
overboard  in  the  fog.  No  one  could  give  any  account  of  him, 
or  remember  his  last  appearance ;  and  Miss  Audley  professed 
much  regret  that  now,  in  all  probability,  we  should  never  be 
able  to  ascertain  his  name,  as,  most  likely,  he  had  "  died  and 
made  no  sign."  To  our  shames  be  it  spoken,  not  one  of  us 
could  cry  a  tear  at  his  possible  fate.  The  captain  had  turned 
into  his  berth,  and  was  reposing  himself  after  the  fatigue  of 
last  night;  so  we  could  make  no  inquiry  of  him  on  the  subject 
of  our  missing  fellow-passenger. 

Mrs.  Cummings  called  the  steward,  and  asked  him  how  long 
it  was  since  he  had  seen  anything  of  that  gentleman.  "I 
really  can't  tell,  madam,"  replied  Hamilton;  "I  can't  pre 
tend  to  charge  my  memory  with  such  things.  But  I  conclude 
he  must  have  been  seen  yesterday — at  least  I  rather  expect 
he  was." 

The  waiter  Juba  was  now  appealed  to  :  "  I  believe,  madam," 
said  Juba — "  I  remember  something  of  handing  that  gentle 
man  the  bread-basket  yesterday  at  dinner — but  I  would  not 
be  qualified  as  to  whether  the  thing  took  place  or  not,  my 
mind  being  a  good  deal  engaged  at  the  time." 

Solomon,  the  third  waiter,  disclaimed  all  positive  knowledge 
of  this  or  any  other  fact,  but  sagely  remarked,  "that  it  was 
very  likely  that  gentleman  had  been  about  all  yesterday,  as 
usual ;  yet  still  it  was  just  as  likely  he  might  not ;  and  there 


34$  THAT    GENTLEMAN. 

was  only  one  thing  certain,  which  was,  that  if  he  was  not  no 
where,  he  must,  of  course,  be  somewhere/' 

"I  have  a  misgiving/'  said  Mrs.  Cummings,  "that  he  will 
never  be  found  again/' 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I  can  do,  madam,"  exclaimed  the  stew 
ard,  looking  as  if  suddenly  struck  with  a  bright  thought — "  I 
can  examine  into  No.  eleventeen,  and  see  if  I  can  perceive  him 
there."  And  softly  opening  the  door  of  the  state-room  in 
question,  he  stepped  back,  and  said  with  a  triumphant  flourish 
of  his  hand — "  There  he  is,  ladies,  there  he  is  in  the  upper 
berth,  fast  asleep  in  his  double-cashmere  dressing-gown.  I 
opinionate  that  he  was  one  of  the  gentlemen  that  stayed  on 
deck  all  night,  because  they  were  afraid  to  go  to  sleep  on  ac 
count  of  the  icebergers. — Of  course,  nobody  noticed  him — but 
there  he  is  now,  safe  enough." 

Instantly  we  proceeded  en  masse  towards  No.  eleventeen, 
to  convince  ourselves :  and  there  indeed  we  saw  that  gentle 
man  lying  asleep  in  his  double  cashmere  dressing-gown.  He 
opened  his  eyes,  and  seemed  surprised,  as  well  he  might,  at 
seeing  all  the  ladies  and  all  the  servants  ranged  before  the 
door  of  his  room,  and  gazing  in  at  him  :  and  then  we  all  stole 
off,  looking  foolish  enough. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Cummings,  "he  is  not  dead,  however, 
— so  we  have  yet  a  chance  of  knowing  his  name  from  himself, 
if  we  choose  to  ask  him.  But  I'm  determined  I'll  make  the 
captain  tell  it  me,  as  soon  as  he  gets  up.  It's  all  nonsense, 
this  making  a  secret  of  a  man's  name." 

"  I  suspect,"  said  Mr.  Fenton,  who  had  just  then  entered 
the  cabin,  "  we  shall  find  it 

<  a  name  unproncmnceaWe, 

Which  nobody  can  speak  and  nobody  can  spell/  " 

"  I  never,"  observed  Mrs.  Cummings,  "  knew  but  one  name 
that  could  neither  be  spoke  nor  spelt — and  that  was  the  great 
general's,  that  was  so  often  in  the  papers  at  the  time  people 
were  talking  about  the  Poles." 

"  Sczrynecki  ?"  said  Mr.  Fenton. 

"  Oh  !  I  don't  know  how  you  call  him,"  replied  Mrs.  Cum 
mings  ;  "  but  Mr.  Upshaw  of  Great  Knight  Rider  street,  said 
it  was  '  Screw  him  sky  high/  And  Dr.  Manglcman  of  Cat- 
eaton  street  (who  was  always  to  me  a  very  disagreeable  per 
son,  because  he  always  talked  of  disagreeable  things),  said  it 
was  l  Squeeze  neck  and  eyes  out/  A  very  unpleasant  person 


THAT   GENTLEMAN.  349' 

was  Dr,  Mangleman.  His  talk  was  enough  to  make  well  peo 
ple  sick,  and  sick  people  sicker — I'm  glad  he's  not  on  board 
o'  ship  with  us.  He  told  us  one  day  at  Mrs.  Winceby's  din 
ner-table,  when  some  of  us  were  eating  calf's  head,  and  some 
roast  pig,  about  his  dissecting  a  man  that  was  hanged,  and  how 
he  took  his  knife  and — 

"  I  really  believe/'  said  I,  wishing  to  be  spared  the  story, 
"  that  we  have  actually  struck  a  rock  this  time." 

"  There  now,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Cummings,  "  you  see  I  am 
right,  after  all.  If  it  is  not  a  rock,  it  is  one  of  those  great 
hills  of  ice  that  has  turned  about  and  is  coming  right  after 
us — Mercy  on  us  !  I  wish  I  was  in  Middle  Row,  Holborn  ! 
Let  us  go  on  deck,  and  see." 

We  went  on  deck,  and  saw  a  whale,  which  was  spouting  at 
a  distance.  While  looking  at  it,  we  were  joined  by  Captain 
Santlow,  and  the  conversation  turning  entirely  on  whales,  that 
gentleman  and  his  name  were  again  forgotten. 

Among  the  numerous  steerage  passengers  was  a  young  man 
whose  profession  was  that  of  a  methodist  preacher.  Having 
succeeded  in  making  some  religious  impressions  on  the  majo 
rity  of  his  companions,  he  one  Sunday  obtained  their  consent 
to  his  performing  divine  service  that  evening  in  the  steerage  : 
and  respectfully  intimated  that  he  would  be  highly  gratified 
by  the  attendance  of  any  of  the  cabin  passengers  that  would 
condescend  to  honour  him  so  far.  Accordingly,  after  tea,  we 
all  descended  to  the  steerage,  at  early  candle-light,  and  found 
everything  prepared  for  the  occasion.  A  barrel,  its  head 
covered  with  a  piece  of  sail-cloth,  served  as  a  desk,  lighted  by 
two  yellowish  dip  candles  placed  in  empty  porter  bottles.  But 
as  there  was  considerable  motion,  it  was  found  that  the  bottles 
would  not  rest  in  their  stations ;  therefore,  they  were  held  by 
two  boys.  The  chests  and  boxes  nearest  to  the  desk,  were  the 
seats  allotted  to  the  ladies  and  gentlemen :  and  the  steerage 
people  ranged  themselves  behind. 

A  hymn  was  sung  to  a  popular  tune.  The  prayer  and  ser 
mon  were  delivered  in  simple  but  impressive  language ;  for 
the  preacher,  though  a  poor  and  illiterate  man,  was  not  deficient 
either  in  serise  or  feeling,  and  was  evidently  imbued  with  the 
sincerest  piety.  There  was  something  solemn  and  affecting  in 
the  aspect  of  the  whole  scene,  with  all  its  rude  arrangement ; 
and  also  in  the  idea  of  the  lonely  and  insulated  situation  of 
our  little  community,  with  "  one  wide  water  all  around  us." 
And  when  the  preacher,  in  his  homely  but  fervent  language, 


850  THAT   GENTLEMAN. 

returned  thanks  for  our  hitherto  prosperous  voyage,  and  prayed 
for  our  speedy  and  safe  arrival  at  our  destined  port,  tears  stood 
in  the  eyes  of  many  of  his  auditors.  I  thought,  when  it  was 
over,  how  frequently  such  scenes  must  have  occurred  between 
the  decks  of  the  May-flower,  during  the  long  and  tempestuous 
passage  of  that  pilgrim  band  who  finally 


"moored  their  bark 
On  the  wild  New  England  shore," 


and  how  often 


Amid  the  storm  they  sung, 
And  the  stars  heard,  and  the  sea — ' 


when  the  wise  and  pious  Brewster  lifted  his  voice  in  exhorta 
tion  and  prayer,  and  the  virtuous  Carver,  and  the  gallant 
Standish,  bowed  their  heads  in  devotion  before  him. 

Another  of  the  steerage  passengers  was  a  lieutenant  in  the 
British  army,  a  man  about  forty  years  old,  of  excellent  educa 
tion,  polished  manners,  and  a  fine  military  deportment.  He 
was  accompanied  by  his  family,  and  they  excited  much  sym 
pathy  among  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  cabin.  He  had 
a  wife,  a  handsome,  modest,  and  intelligent  looking  woman, 
and  five  very  pretty  children,  three  boys  and  two  girls.  Being 
reduced  to  half-pay,  seeing  no  chance  of  promotion,  and  weary 
of  living  on  "  hope  deferred  that  maketh  the  heart  sick/'  Lieu 
tenant  Lynford  had  resolved  to  emigrate,  and  settle  on  a  grant 
of  land  accorded  to  him  in  Canada  in  consequence  of  his  having 
been  in  service  there  during  our  last  war.  He  believed  that 
the  new  world  would  offer  better  prospects  to  his  children, 
and  that  he  could  there  support  his  family  at  less  expense 
than  in  Europe.  Unable  to  afford  the  cost  of  their  passage 
in  the  cabin,  he  was  under  the  painful  necessity  of  bringing 
them  over  in  the  steerage,  amidst  all  its  unimaginable  and 
revolting  inconveniences. 

It  was  impossible  to  regard  this  unfortunate  and  misplaced 
family  without  emotions  of  deep  interest  and  sincere  commise 
ration  j  they  were  so  evidently  out  of  their  proper  sphere,  and 
it  must  have  been  so  painful  to  the  feelings  of  a  gentleman 
and  lady  to  live  in  almost  immediate  contact  with  the  coarse 
and  vulgar  tenants  of  that  crowded  and  comfortless  part  of 
the  vessel. 

Mr.  Fenton,  and  others  of  the  gentlemen,  took  great  plea 
sure  in  conversing  with  Lieutenant  Lynford ;  though,  accord- 


THAT   GENTLEMAN.  351 

ing  to  rule,  the  poor  officer  was  not  permitted,  as  a  steerage 
passenger,  to  come  aft  the  mainmast.  Therefore,  their  con 
versations  had  to  take  place  at  the  extreme  limits  of  the 
boundary  line,  which  the  lieutenant  was  scrupulous  in  never 
overstepping. 

His  wife,  a  lady  both  in  appearance  and  manner,  was  sel 
dom  seen  on  deck,  except  when  her  husband-  prevailed  on  her 
to  come  up  with  him  to  look  at  something  that  made  a  spec 
tacle,  or  an  event,  in  the  monotony  of  our  usual  sea-view.  We 
understood  that  they  had  surrounded  the  narrow  space  allotted 
to  their  beds  with  a  sort  of  partition,  made  by  suspending  a 
screen  of  quilts  and  blankets,  so  as  to  interpose  a  slight  bar 
rier  between  themselves  and  the  disgusting  scenes,  and  fre 
quently  disgusting  people  with  whom  it  was  their  hard  fate 
to  be  associated  during  the  voyage;  and  whose  jealousy  and 
ill-will  would  have  been  immediately  excited  by  any  attempt 
on  the  part  of  the  captain  or  the  cabin  passengers,  to  alleviate 
the  discomforts  to  which  the  unfortunate  Lynfords  were  sub 
jected. 

The  regulation  that  no  light  shall  be  allowed  in  the  steer 
age,  except  on  some  extraordinary  occasion  (and  which  origi 
nates  in  the  danger  of  the  ship  being  carelessly  set  on  fire), 
must  have  been  an  almost  intolerable  grievance  to  Lieutenant 
Lynford,  and  his  wife  and  children.  I  often  thought  of  them 
while  we  were  spending  our  evenings  so  agreeably  in  various 
amusements  and  occupations  round  the  cabin  tables,  brightly 
illuminated  by  the  elegant  lamps  that  were  suspended  from  the 
ceiling.  I  felt  how  long  and  how  dismally  their  evenings 
must  have  passed,  capable  as  they  were  in  mind,  in  taste,  and 
in  education,  of  the  same  enjoyments  as  ourselves;  and  there 
fore  feeling  with  double  intensity  the  severe  pressure  of  their 
hard  and  unmerited  condition. 

After  crossing  the  Banks  we  seemed  to  feel  ourselves  on 
American  ground,  or  rather  on  American  sea.  As  our  •interest 
increased  on  approaching  the  land  of  our  destination,  that  gen 
tleman  was  proportionably  overlooked  and  forgotten.  He  "kept 
the  even  tenor  of  his  way/7  and  we  had  become  scarcely  con 
scious  that  he  was  still  among  us  :  till  one  day,  when  there  was 
rather  a  hard  gale,  and  the  waves  were  running  high,  we  were 
startled,  as  we  surrounded  the  luncheon  table,  by  a  tremendous 
noise  on  the  cabin  staircase,  and  the  sudden  bursting  open  of 
the  door  at  its  foot.  We  all  looked  up,  and  saw  that  gentle 
man  falling  down  stairs,  with  both  arms  extended,  as  he  held 


352  THAT  GENTLEMAN. 

in  one  hand  a  tall  cane  stool,  and  in  the  other  the  captain's 
barometer,  which  had  hung  just  within  the  upper  door;  he 
having  involuntarily  caught  hold  of  both  these  articles  with  a 
view  of  saving  himself.  "While  his  head,  as  he  tumbled, 
went  nicketty  nock,"  his  countenance,  for  once,  assumed  a 
new  expression,  and  the  change  from  its  usual  unvarying  same 
ness  was  so  striking,  that,  combined  with  his  ludicrous  atti 
tude,  it  set  us  all  to  laughing.  The  waiters  ran  forward  and 
assisted  him  to  rise ;  and  it  was  then  found  that  the  stool  and 
the  barometer  had  been  the  greatest  sufferers ;  one  having  lost 
a  leg,  and  the  other  being  so  shattered  that  the  stair-carpet 
was  covered  with  globules  of  quicksilver.  However,  he  retired 
to  his  state-room,  and  whether  or  not  he  was  seen  again  be 
fore  next  morning,  I  cannot  positively  undertake  to  say. 

On  the  edge  of  the  Gulf  Stream,  we  had  a  day  of  entire 
calm,  when  "  there  was  not  a  breath  the  blue  wave  to  curl." 
A  thin  veil  of  haziness  somewhat  softened  the  fires  of  the 
American  sun  (as  it  was  now  called  by  the  European  passen 
gers),  and  we  passed  the  whole  day  on  deck,  in  a  delightful 
state  of  idle  enjoyment ;  gazing  on  the  inhabitants  of  the  deep, 
that,  like  ourselves,  seemed  to  be  taking  a  holiday.  Dolphins, 
horse-mackerel,  and  porpoises  were  sporting  round  the  vessel, 
and  the  flying-fish,  "  with  brine  still  dropping  from  its  wings," 
was  darting  up  into  the  sun-light  •  while  flocks  of  petrels,  their 
black  plumage  tinged  with  flame-colour,  seemed  to  rest  on  the 
surface  of  the  water ;  and  the  nautilus,  "  the  native  pilot  of 
his  little  bark,"  glided  gayly  along  the  dimpling  mirror  that 
reflected  his  tiny  oars  and  gauzy  sail.  We  fished  up  large 
clusters  of  sea-weed,  among  which  were  some  beautiful  speci 
mens  of  a  delicate  purple  colour,  which,  when  viewed  through 
a  microscope,  glittered  like  silver,  and  were  covered  with  little 
shell-fish  so  minute  as  to  be  invisible  to  the  naked  eye. 

It  was  a  lovely  day.  The  lieutenant  and  his  family  were 
all  on  deck,  and  looked  happy.  That  gentleman  looked  as 
usual.  Towards  evening,  a  breeze  sprung  up  directly  fair, 
and  filled  the  sails,  which  all  day  had  been  clinging  idly  to 
the  masts  ;  and  before  midnight  we  were  wafted  along  at  the 
rate  of  nine  knots  an  hour,  "  while  round  the  waves  phos 
phoric  brightness  broke,"  the  ship  seeming,  as  she  cleaved  the 
foam,  to  draw  after  her  in  her  wake  a  long  train  of  stars. 

Next  day,  we  continued  to  proceed  rapidly,  with  a  fair 
wind,  which  we  knew  would  soon  bring  us  to  the  end  of  our 
voyage.  The  ladies'  cabin  was  now  littered  with  trunks  and 


THAT   GENTLEMAN.  353 

boxes,  brought  from  the  baggage-room  that  we  might  select 
from  them  such  articles  as  we  thought  we  should  require  when 
we  went  on  shore. 

But  we  were  soon  attracted  to  the  deck,  to  see  the  always 
interesting  experiment  of  sounding  with  the  deep-sea  lead. 
To  our  great  joy,  it  came  up  (though  from  almost  immeasur 
able  depth)  with  a  little  sand  adhering  to  the  cake  of  tallow 
at  the  bottom  of  the  plummet.  The  breeze  was  increasing, 
and  Mr.  Overslaugh,  whose  pretensions  to  nautical  knowledge 
were  considered  very  shallow  by  his  fellow  amateurs,  remarked 
to  my  husband :  "  If  this  wind  holds,  I  should  not  wonder  if 
we  are  aground  in  less  than  two  hour/' 

Before  Mr.  Fenton  could  reply,  Mrs.  Cummings  exclaimed  : 
"  Aground,  did  you  say !" — And  she  scuttled  away  with 
greater  alacrity  than  we  had  ever  seen  her  evince  on  any  for 
mer  occasion.  Some  time  after,  on  entering  the  ladies'  cabin, 
I  found  that  the  old  dame,  with  her  usual  misconstruction  of 
sea-phrases,  had  rejoicingly  dressed  herself  in  a  very  showy 
suit  prepared  for  her  first  landing  in  America,  and  was  now  in 
the  act  of  buttoning  at  the  ankles  a  pair  of  frilled  leggings 
to  "  go  aground  in,"  as  she  informed  me. 

I  explained  to  her  her  mistake,  at  which  she  was  wofully 
disappointed,  and  proportionately  alarmed,  ejaculating — "  Oh ! 
if  I  was  only  back  again — anywhere  at  all — even  in  the  very 
out-scouts  of  London — rather  than  stay  another  night  in  this 
dreadful  ship  ! — To  think,  that  after  all  my  sufferings  at  sea, 
I  may  be  blown  headforemost  ashore,  and  drowned  on  dry 
land  at  last !" 

However,  I  succeeded  in  calming  her  terrors  ]  and  seeing 
her  engaged  in  taking  off  her  finery  to  resume  the  black  silk 
she  had  worn  during  the  voyage,  I  left  Mrs.  Cummings,  and 
returned  to  my  husband.  The  wind,  though  still  fair,  had 
decreased  towards  the  close  of  the  day,  and  was  now  mild  and 
balmy.  When  I  saw  the  white  wings  of  a  flight  of  curlews 
glancing  against  the  bright  crimson  glories  of  the  sunset  sky, 
I  could  not  help  saying,  "  those  birds  will  reach  their  nests  at 
twilight,  and  their  nests  are  in  America." 

We  remained  on  deck  the  whole  evening,  believing  it  pro 
bably  the  last  we  should  spend  together ;  and  the  close  com 
panionship  of  four  weeks  in  the  very  circumscribed  limits  of 
a  ship,  had  made  us  seem  like  one  family. 

We  talked  of  the  morrow,  and  I  forgot  that  that  gentleman 
was  among  us,  till  I  saw  him  leave  the  deck  to  retire  for  the 


354  THAT  GENTLEMAN. 

night.  The  thought  then  struck  me,  that  another  day,  and 
we  should  cease  perhaps  to  remember  his  existence. 

I  laid  my  head  on  my  pillow  with  the  understanding  that 
land  would  be  discovered  before  morning,  and  I  found  it  im 
possible  to  sleep.  Mr.  Fenton  went  on  deck  about  midnight,, 
and  remained  there  till  dawn.  What  American,  when  re 
turning  to  his  native  country,  and  almost  in  view  of  its  shores, 
is  not  reminded  of  that  night,  when  Columbus  stood  on  the 
prow  of  the  Santa  Maria,  and  watched  in  breathless  silence 
with  his  impatient  companions,  for  the  first  glimpse  of  the  long 
wished-for  land — that  memorable  night,  which  gave  a  new 
impulse  to  the  world  already  known,  and  to  that  which  was 
about  to  be  discovered  ! 

Near  one  o'clock,  I  heard  a  voice  announcing  the  light  on 
the  highlands  of  Neversink,  and  in  a  short  time  all  the  gentle 
men  were  on  deck.  At  day-break  Mr.  Fenton  came  to  ask 
me  if  I  would  rise,  and  see  the  morning  dawn  upon  our  own 
country.  We  had  taken  a  pilot  on  board  at  two  o'clock,  had 
a  fine  fair  breeze  to  carry  us  into  the  bay  of  New  York,  and 
there  was  every  probability  of  our  being  on  shore  in  a  few 
hours.  When  I  reached  the  deck,  tears  came  into  my  eyes  as 

I  leaned  on  my  husband's  arm,  and  saw  the  light  of  Sandy 
Hook  shining  brilliantly  in  the  dimness  of  the  closing  night, 
and  emulating  the  morning  star  as  it  sparkled  above  the  rosy 
streak  that  was  brightening  in  the  eastern  horizon.    We  gazed 
till  the  rising  sun  sent  up  his  first  rays  from  behind   the  kin 
dling  and  empurpled  ocean,  and  our  native  shore  lay  clear  and 
distinct  before  us. 

Soon  after  sunrise  we  were  visited  by  a  news-boat,  when 
there  was  an  exchange  of  papers,  and  much  to  inquire  and 
much  to  tell. 

We  were  going  rapidly  through  the  Narrows,  when  the  bell 
rung  for  breakfast,  which  Captain  Santlow  had  ordered  at  an 
early  hour,  as  we  had  all  been  up  before  daylight.  Chancing 
to  look  towards  his  accustomed  seat,  I  missed  that  gentleman, 
and  inquired  after  him  of  the  captain. — "  Oh  !"  he  replied, 

II  that  gentleman  went  on  shore  in  the  news-boat ;  did  you  not 
see  him  depart  ?     He  bowed  all  round,  before  he  went  down 
the  side." 

"  No,"  was  the  general  reply ;  (( we  did  not  see  him  go." 
In  truth,  we  had  all  been  too  much  interested  in  hearing, 
reading,  and  talking  of  the  news  brought  by  the  boat. 


THAT   GENTLEMAN.  355 

"  Then  he  is  gone  for  ever/'  exclaimed  Mrs.  Cummings — 
<(  and  we  shall  never  know  his  name." 

"  Come,  Captain  Santlow,"  said  Mr.  Fenton,  "  try  to  recol 
lect  it. — '  Let  it  not/  as  Grrumio  says,  '  die  in  oblivion,  while 
we  return  to  our  graves  inexperienced  in  it.' " 

Captain  Santlow  smiled,  and  remained  silent.  "  Now,  cap 
tain/'  said  Miss  Audley,  "  I  will  not  quit  the  ship  till  you  tell 
me  that  gentleman's  name. — I  cannot  hold  out  a  greater  threat 
to  you,  as  I  know  you  have  had  a  weary  time  of  it  since  I 
have  been  under  your  charge.  Come,  I  set  not  my  foot  on 
shore  till  I  know  the  name  of  that  gentleman,  and  also  why 
you  cannot  refrain  from  smiling  whenever  you  are  asked 
about  it." 

"  Well,  then,"  replied  Captain  Santlow,  "  though  his  name 
is  a  very  pretty  one  when  you  get  it  said,  there  is  a  little 
awkwardness  in  speaking  it.  So  I  thought  I  would  save  my 
self  and  my  passengers  the  trouble.  And  partly  for  that  reason, 
and  partly  to  tease  you  all,  I  have  withheld  it  from  your 
knowledge  during  the  voyage.  But  I  can  assure  you  he  is  a 
baronet." 

"  A  baronet !"  cried  Miss  Audley ;  "  I  wish  I  had  known 
that  before,  I  should  certainly  have  made  a  dead  set  at  him. 
A  baronet  would  have  been  far  better  worth  the  trouble  of  a 
flirtation,  than  you,  Mr.  Williams,  or  you,  Mr.  Sutton,  or  you, 
Mr.  Belfield,  or  any  of  the  other  gentlemen  that  I  have  been 
amusing  myself  with  during  the  voyage." 

"  A  baronet !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Cummings  ;  "well,  really — 
and  have  I  been  four  weeks  in  the  same  ship  with  a  baronet 
— and  sitting  at  the  same  table  with  him, — and  often  talking 
to  him  face  to  face? — I  wonder  what  Mrs.  Thimbleby  of 
Threadneedle  street  would  say  if  she  knew  that  I  am  now 
acquainted  with  a  baronet !" 

"  But  what  is  his  name,  captain  ?"  said  Mr.  Fenton ;  "  still 
you  do  not  tell  us." 

11  His  name/'  answered  the  captain,  <(  is  Sir  St.  John  St. 
Leger." 

"  Sir  St.  John  St.  Leger !"  was  repeated  by  each  of  the 
company. 

"  Yes/'  resumed  Captain  Santlow — "and  you  see  how  diffi 
cult  it  is  to  say  it  smoothly.     There  is  more  sibilation  in  it 
than  in  any  name  I  know. — Was  I  not  right  in  keeping  it 
from  you  till  the  voyage  was  over,  and  thus  sparing  you  the 
30 


356  THAT   GENTLEMAN. 

trouble  of  articulating  it,  and  myself  the  annoyance  of  near- 
ing  it  ?  See,  here  it  is  in  writing." 

The  captain  took  his  manifest  out  of  his  pocket-book,  and 
showed  us  the  words,  "  Sir  St.  John  St.  Leger,  of  Sevenoaks, 
Kent/' 

"  Pho  \"  said  Mrs.  Cunimings.  "  Where's  the  trouble  in 
speaking  that  name,  if  you  only  knew  the  right  way — I  have 
heard  it  a  hundred  times — and  even  seen  it  in  the  newspapers. 
This  must  be  the  very  gentleman  that  my  cousin  George's 
wife  is  always  talking  about.  She  has  a  brother  that  lives 
near  his  estate,  a  topping  apothecary.  Why,  'tis  easy  enough 
to  say  his  name,  if  you  say  it  as  we  do  in  England." 

"  And  how  is  that  ?"  asked  the  captain ;  "  what  can  you 
make  of  Sir  St.  John  St.  Leger  ?" 

"Why,  Sir  Singeon  Sillinger,  to  be  sure,"  replied  Mrs. 
Cummingsj  "I  am  confident  he  would  have  answered  to  that 
name.  Sir  Singeon  Sillinger  of  Sunnock — cousin  George's 
wife's  brother  lives  close  by  Sunnock  in  a  yellow  house  with 
a  red  door." 

"And  have  I,"  said  the  captain,  laughing,  "so  carefully 
kept  his  name  to  myself,  during  the  whole  passage,  for  fear 
we  should  have  had  to  call  him  Sir  St.  John  St.  Leger,  when 
all  the  while  we  might  have  said  Sir  Singeon  Sillinger  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  you  might,"  replied  Mrs.  Cummiugs,  looking 
proud  of  the  opportunity  of  displaying  her  superior  know 
ledge  of  something.  "  With  all  your  striving  after  sense  you 
Americans  are  a  very  ignorant  people,  particularly  of  the  right 
way  of  speaking  English.  Since  I  have  been  on  board,  I  have 
heard  you  all  say  the  oddest  things — though  I  thought  there 
would  be  no  use  in  trying  to  set  you  right.  The  other  day 
there  was  Mr.  Williams  talking  of  the  church  of  St.  Mary  le 
bon — instead  of  saying  Marrow  bone.  Then  Mr.  Belfield  says, 
Lord  Cholmondeley,  instead  of  Lord  Ghumley,  and  Col.  Sin 
clair,  instead  of  Col.  Sinkler  j  and  Mr.  Sutton  says  Lady  Beau- 
champ,  instead  of  Lady  Beachum ;  and  you  all  say  Birming 
ham,  instead  of  Brummagem.  The  truth  is,  you  know  nothing 
about  English  names.  Now  that  name,  Trollope,  that  you  all 
sneer  at  so  much,  and  think  so  very  low,  why  Trollope  is  quite 
genteel  in  England,  and  so  is  Hussey.  The  Trollopes  and 
Husseys  belong  to  great  families.  But  I  have  no  doubt  of 
finding  many  things  that  are  very  elegant  in  England,  counted 
quite  vulgar  in  America,  owing  to  the  ignorance  of  your  peo- 


THAT   GENTLEMAN.  357 

pie.  For  my  part,  I  was  particularly  brought  up  to  despise 
all  manner  of  ignorance/7 

In  a  short  time  a  steamboat  came  alongside  into  which  we 
removed  ourselves,  accompanied  by  the  captain  and  the  letter 
bags  ]  and  we  proceeded  up  to  the  city,  where  Mr.  Fenton  and 
myself  were  met  on  the  wharf,  I  need  not  tell  how,  and  by 
whom. 

Captain  Santlow  informed  us  during  our  little  trip  in  the 
boat,  that  soon  after  breakfast,  the  steward  had  brought  him 
a  letter  which  he  had  just  found  on  the  pillow  in  that  gentle 
man's  birth.  It  was  directed  to  Lieutenant  Lynford.  The 
captain  immediately  went  forward  and  presented  it  to  him, 
and  the  poor  officer  was  so  overcome  after  opening  it,  that  he 
could  not  forbear  making  known  to  Captain  Santlow  that  it 
contained  a  draft  for  five  hundred  dollars  on  a  house  in  New 
York,  and  a  few  lines  signed  St.  John  St.  Leger,  requesting 
Lieutenant  Lynford  to  oblige  the  writer  by  making  use  of  that 
sum  to  assist  in  settling  his  family  in  Canada. 

We  were  now  all  warm  in  our  praise  of  that  gentleman's 
generosity.  And  Mrs.  Cummings  recollected  that  she  had 
heard  from  her  cousin  George's  wife  that  her  brother  of  Sun- 
nock  often  said  that,  though  he  never  spoke  if  he  could  help 
it,  nobody  did  kinder  things  in  his  own  quiet  way  than  Sir 
Singeon  Sillinger. 


THE    SERENADES. 


'  Sleep  you,  or  wake  you,  lady  bright  ?" — LEWIS. 

"  AND  now  tell  me  the  reason  of  your  giving  us  the  slip  on 
Tuesday  night/'  said  Charles  Cavender  to  Frederick  Merrill, 
as  they  came  out  of  court  together,  and  walked  into  the  shade 
of  the  beautiful  double  row  of  linden  trees  that  interlace  their 
branches  in  front  of  the  Philadelphia  State  House,  perfuming 
the  atmosphere  of  early  summer  with  the  fragrance  of  their 
delicate  yellow  blossoms. 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  replied  Merrill,  "  I  never  had 
much  fancy  for  these  regular  serenading  parties.  And  as,  on 
Tuesday  night,  I  had  a  presentiment  that  the  course  of  ours 
was  not  going  to  run  smoothly,  and  as  I  found  it  impossible 
to  play  with  such  a  second  as  Dick  Doubletongue,  I  resigned 
my  flute  to  Walton,  and  went  home  for  my  guitar,  being  very 
much  in  the  notion  of  taking  a  ramble  on  my  own  account, 
and  giving  a  little  unpretending  music  to  several  pretty  girls 
of  my  own  acquaintance." 

"  Ah  !  that  guitar  !"  exclaimed  Cavender  :  "  Since  you  first 
heard  Segura,  no  Spaniard  can  be  more  completely  fascinated 
with  the  instrument.  And,  to  do  Segura  justice,  he  has  made 
an  excellent  guitar  player  of  you,  and  cultivated  your  voice 
with  great  success." 

"  But  how  did  you  proceed  after  I  left  you  ?"  asked 
Merrill. 

"  Oh  !  very  well !"  replied  Cavender ;  "  only  that  infernal 
piano,  that  Harry  Fingerley  insisted  on  being  brought  along 
with  us,  was  pretty  considerable  of  a  bore." 

"  Sol  thought,"  responded  Merrill;  "  to  me  there  appeared 

(358) 


THE   SERENADES,  859 

something  too  absurd  in  conveying  through  the  streets  at  night 
so  cumbrous  an  instrument — carrying  it  on  a  handbarrow, 
like  porters/7 

"  Well/'  observed  Cavender,  "  there  were,  however,  enough 
of  us  to  relieve  each  other  every  square.  By-the-bye,  I  sus 
pect  that  your  true  reason  for  deserting  was  to  avoid  taking 
your  turn  in  carrying  the  piano." 

"  You  are  not  far  wrong/7  replied  Merrill,  smiling. 

"  It  was  a  ridiculous  business/7  resumed  Cavender.  "  As 
Fingerley  cannot  touch  an  instrument  without  his  notes,  and 
always  chooses  to  show  off  in  difficult  pieces,  a  lantern  was 
brought  along,  which  one  of  us  was  obliged  to  hold  for  him 
whenever  he  played.  Unluckily,  a  music  stool  had  been  for 
gotten,  and  poor  Harry,  who,  you  know,  is  one  of  the  tallest 
striplings  in  town,  was  obliged  to  play  kneeling  :  and  he  wore 
the  knees  of  his  pantaloons  threadbare,  in  getting  through  a 
long  concerto  of  Beethoven7s,  before  Miss  Flickwire7s  door.77 

"  To  what  place  did  you  go  after  I  left  you  ?77  inquired 
Merrill. 

"  Oh  !  to  serenade  that  saucy  flirt,  Miss  Lawless,  Frank 
Hazeldon7s  flame.  We  ranged  ourselves  in  front  of  the  house, 
set  down  the  piano  and  its  elegant  supporter,  the  handbarrow, 
upon  the  pavement,  and  all  struck  up  the  Band  March,  with 
our  eyes  turned  upwards,  expecting  that  we  should  see  the 
shutters  gently  open,  and  the  pretty  faces  of  Lucy  Lawless 
and  her  two  sisters  slyly  peeping  down  at  us.  But  we  looked 
in  vain.  No  shutters  opened,  and  no  faces  peeped.77 

"  Perhaps/7  said  Merrill,  "  the  family  were  all  out  of 
town  ?77 

"  No,  no/7  replied  Cavender ;  "  a  bright  light  shone  through 
the  fan-glass  over  the  door,  which  opened  at  last,  just  as  we 
had  concluded  the  Band  March,  and  out  came  Bogle,  followed 
by  two  or  three  other  waiters  of  rather  a  more  decided  colour, 
who  stood  a  little  aloof.  '  Gentlemen/  said  Bogle,  '  Miss 
Lawless  desires  her  respects  and  compliments  to  you  all,  and 
wishes  me  to  inquire  if  there  is  one  Mr.  Hazeldon  among 
you  ?7 — '  Yes ;  I  am  Mr.  Hazeldon/  said  Frank,  stepping  out. 
— (  Then/  resumed  Bogle,  with  his  usual  flourish  of  hand, 
*  Miss  Lawless  presents  her  further  respects  and  compliments, 
and  requests  me  to  make  you  acquainted  that  she  has  a  party 
to-night,  and  as  Frank  Johnson  was  pre-engaged,  and  could 
not  come,  she  desires  you  will  play  a  few  cotillions  for  the 
30* 


360  THE   SERENADES. 

company  to  dance — and  if  there  are  any  more  gentlemen-fid 
dlers  present,  she  will  thank  them  to  play  too/ 

u  There  was  a  general  burst  of  mingled  indignation  and 
laughter.  Some  of  the  serenaders  advanced  to  put  Bogle  into 
the  gutter,  but  he  very  naturally  resisted,  justly  declaring 
that  he  ought  not  to  be  punished  for  obeying  the  lady's 
orders,  and  delivering  the  message  systematically,  as  he 
termed  it. 

"  The  windows  of  the  front  parlour  were  now  thrown  open, 
and  Miss  Lawless  with  her  sisters  appeared  at  them,  dressed 
in  lace  and  flowers.  Both  parlours  were  lighted  up  with 
chandeliers,  and  filled  with  company. 

"  '  Mr.  Hazeldon/  said  Miss  Lawless,  '  you  and  your  friends 
have  come  precisely  at  the  right  time.  Nothing  could  be 
more  apropos  than  your  arrival.  We  were  all  engaged  with 
the  ice-creams  and  jellies  while  you  were  playing  the  Band 
March  (which,  to  do  you  justice,  you  performed  very  respect 
ably),  or  we  should  have  sent  Bogle  out  to  you  before.  Pray, 
Mr.  Hazeldon,  give  us  "  Love  was  once  a  little  boy /' — it 
makes  an  excellent  cotillion — and  we  shall  then  be  able  to 
decide  between  the  merits  of  your  band  and  that  of  Mr. 
Francis  Johnson/ — 'But  we  are  all  gentlemen,  madam/  said 
the  simple  Bob  Midgely,  '  and  this  is  a  serenade/ — (  The  more 
convenient/  replied  Miss  Lawless,  who  is  really  a  very  hand 
some  girl  j  (  a  serenade  may  thus  be  made  to  answer  a  double 
purpose — killing  two  birds  with  one  stone,  in  proverbial 
parlance/ 

"  Poor  Frank  Hazeldon  was  so  much  annoyed  as  to  be  inca 
pable  of  reply,  being  also  vexed  and  mortified  at  having  no 
invitation  to  his  lady-love's  party. 

"  But  I  went  forward,  and  said  to  Miss  Lawless,  that  if  she 
and  her  friends  would  come  out,  and  perform  their  cotillions 
on  the  pavement,  we  would  have  much  pleasure  in  playing  for 
them.  To  this  she  replied,  that  she  now  perceived  we  had  no 
tambourine  with  us,  and  that  a  dance  without  that  enlivening 
instrument  must  always  be  a  very  spiritless  affair.  Therefore 
she  would  excuse,  for  the  present,  the  services  of  Mr.  Hazel 
don  and  his  musical  friends. 

"  She  then  closed  the  window,  and  we  bowed  and  moved 
off;  resolved  that  for  the  future  we  would  take  care  to  avoid 
the  awkward  contre-tems  of  serenading  a  lady  when  she  is  in 
the  act  of  having  a  party.  Frank  Hazeldon  loudly  protested 
against  the  insolence  of  his  dulcinea,  '  who/  said  he;  '  would 


THE   SERENADES,  861 

not  dare  to  say  and  do  such  things,  only  that  she  knows  her 
self  to  be  (as  she  certainly  is),  the  most  beautiful  creature  on 
the  face  of  the  earth/  However,  he  averred  that  he  had  done 
with  Miss  Lawless  entirely,  and  would  scrupulously  avoid  all 
further  acquaintance  with  her,  now  that  she  had  not  only 
affronted  himself,  but  his  friends.  We  advised  him  to  consi 
der  it  not  so  deeply/' 

"  He  seems  to  have  taken  your  advice,"  observed  Merrill ; 
"  for  there  he  is,  just  turning  the  corner  of  Sixth  street  with 
her — she  laughing  at  him  as  usual,  and  he,  as  usual,  thankful 
to  be  laughed  at  by  her.  But  where  else  did  you  go  T' 

(i  We  went  to  two  other  places,"  replied  Cavenderj  "where 
nothing  particular  happened,  except  that  at  one  of  them  the 
ladies  threw  flowers  down  to  us.  Afterwards,  Dick  Double- 
tongue  proposed  our  going  into  Market  street  to  serenade  two 
very  pretty  girls,  the  daughters  of  a  wealthy  tradesman,  who, 
being  an  old-fashioned  man,  persevered  in  the  convenience  of 
living  in  the  same  house  in  which  he  kept  his  store.  Unluckily, 
it  was  the  night  before  market-day.  We  began  with  *  Life 
let  us  cherish/  which  Dick  assured  us  was  a  special  favourite 
with  the  young  ladies — and  our  music  soon  aroused  the  mar 
ket-people,  some  of  whom  were  sleeping  in  their  carts  that 
stood  in  the  street,  others,  wrapped  in  coverlets,  were  bi 
vouacking  on  the  stalls  in  the  market-house,  to  be  ready  on 
the  spot  for  early  morning.  They  started  up,  jumped  down, 
gathered  around  us,  and  exclaimed — '  Well,  did  ever  !' — • 
*  Now,  that's  what  I  call  music  V — '  There,  Polly,  there's  the 
right  sort  of  fiddling  for  you  V — '  Well,  this  beats  me !' — 
t  Law,  Suz  ! — how  they  do  play  it  up  !' — and  other  equally 
gratifying  expressions.  And  one  woman  called  out  to  her 
husband — *  Here,  daddy,  take  up  the  baby,  and  bring  him  out 
of  the  cart,  and  let  him  hear  some  music-playing,  now  he  has 
a  chance/  So  the  baby  was  brought,  and  daddy  held  him 
close  up  to  the  flute-players,  and  the  baby  cried,  as  all  babies 
should  do  when  they  are  taken  up  in  the  night  to  hear  music. 

"  To  crown  all,  the  concert  was  joined  by  a  dozen  calves, 
who  awoke  from  their  uneasy  slumbers  in  the  carts,  and  began 
bleating  in  chorus }  and  by  the  crowing  of  various  fowls,  and 
the  quacking  of  various  ducks  that  were  tied  by  the  legs  in 
pairs,  and  lying  under  the  stalls.  Every  moment  fresh  mar 
ket-carts  came  jolting  and  rattling  over  the  stones,  and  we 
would  have  gone  away  at  the  conclusion  of  '  Life  let  us  che 
rish/  only  that  Dick  begged  us  to  remain  till  we  saw  some 


862  THE   SERENADES. 

indications  of  the  ladies  being  awake  and  listening  to  us — a 
circumstance  always  gratifying  to  serenaders.  While  we  were 
in  full  performance  of  '  The  Goddess  Diana/  we  saw  a  light 
in  a  room  up  stairs,  a  window  was  opened,  and  there  appeared 
at  it  two  young  ladies,  who  had  evidently  taken  the  trouble  to 
arrange  their  hair,  and  attire  themselves  very  becomingly  in 
pink  gowns  and  white  collars,  for  the  purpose  of  doing  honour 
to  the  musicians  and  themselves.  After  this,  we  could  do  no 
less  than  play  another  of  their  favourites.  When  it  was 
finished,  we  bowed  up  to  the  window,  and  they  curtsied 
down  to  us,  and  the  market-women  approved,  saying — "  Law, 
now,  if  that  aVt  pretty ! — all  making  their  manners  to  one 
another  ! — well,  if  we  a' n't  in  luck  to-night !' ;; 

"  The  combination  of  noises  that  accompanied  your  Market 
street  serenade/'  observed  Merrill,  "  reminds  me  of  a  ridicu 
lous  incident  that  occurred  one  night,  when  I  and  my  flute 
were  out  with  Tom  Clearnote  and  Sam  Startlem  •  Clearnote 
having  his  Kent  bugle,  and  Startlem  making  his  first  public 
essay  on  the  trombone,  which  he  had  taken  a  fancy  to  learn. 
We  went  to  a  house  in  Chestnut  street,  where  there  were 
three  charming  girls,  who  we  soon  saw  had  all  properly  dis 
posed  themselves  for  listening  at  the  windows.  We  com 
menced  with  the  March  in  Masaniello.  Unfortunately,  Sam 
Startlem,  from  having  a  cold,  or  some  other  cause,  and  being 
but  a  novice  on  the  trombone,  found  it  impossible  to  fill  the 
instrument,  or  to  produce  any  sound  but  a  sort  of  hollow 
croak,  that  went  exactly  like  '  Fire !  fire  !' — the  cry  which  so 
often  frights  our  town  from  its  propriety. 

"Just  then  the  watchman  was  passing  with  a  dog  that 
always  followed  him,  and  that  had  a  habit  of  howling  when 
ever  he  heard  the  alarm  of  fire.  On  meeting  the  strange 
sounds,  half  guttural,  half  nasal,  from  Startlem's  trombone, 
he  very  naturally  mistook  them  for  the  announcement  of  a 
conflagration,  and  set  up  his  customary  yell.*  In  a  few 
minutes,  the  boys  issued  from  all  quarters,  according  to  their 
practice,  by  day  and  by  night  whenever  there  is  anything  to  be 
seen  or  heard  that  promises  a  mob.  The  supposed  cry  of  fire 
was  reiterated  through  the  street ;  and  spread  all  round. 
Presently  two  or  three  engines  came  scampering  along,  bells 
ringing,  trumpets  braying,  torches  flaring,  and  men  shouting 
— all  running  they  knew  not  whither ;  for  as  yet  the  bell  of 
the  State  House  had  not  tolled  out  its  unerring  signal. 

*  Fact. 


THE    SERENADES.  363 

t(  In  the  general  confusion,  we  thought  it  best  to  cease  play 
ing,  and  quietly  decamp,  being  ashamed  (for  the  honour  of  our 
musicians)  to  inform  the  firemen  of  the  real  cause  of  the  mis 
take  ;  so  we  gladly  stole  out  of  the  crowd,  and  turned  into  a 
private  street. — But  excuse  nie  for  interrupting  you. — Finish 
your  narrative." 

"  There  is  little  more  to  be  said,"  resumed  Cavender.  "By 
the  time  we  had  afforded  sufficient  amusement  to  the  market- 
people,  the  moon  had  long  since  set,  and  the  stars  begun  to 
fade.  So  we  all  put  up  our  instruments,  and  wearily  sought 
our  dwelling-places ; — Harry  Fingerley  wisely  hiring  relays  of 
black  men  to  carry  home  the  piano. 

"  But  we  have  been  talking  long  enough  under  these  trees," 
continued  Cavender ;  "  let  us  walk  up  Chestnut  street 
together,  and  tell  me  what  befell  yourself  while  serenading 
according  to  the  fashion  of  Old  Castile.  Of  course,  you 
went  first  to  Miss  Osbrook?" 

"  I  did,"  replied  Merrill,  smiling,  and  colouring  a  little ; 
1 '  and  I  played  and  sung  for  her,  in  my  very  best  style,  several 
of  my  very  best  songs.  And  I  was  rewarded  by  obtaining  a 
glimpse  of  a  graceful  white  figure  at  the  window,  as  she  half 
unclosed  it,  and  seeing  a  white  hand  (half  hidden  by  a  ruffle) 
resting  gently  on  one  of  the  bars  of  the  Venetian  shutter — • 
and  as  the  moon  was  then  shining  brightly  down,  I  knew  that 
my  divine  Emily  also  saw  me. 

"  From  thence  I  went  to  the  residence  of  a  blooming  Quaker 
girl,  who,  I  understood  from  a  mutual  friend,  had  expressed  a 
great  wish  for  a  serenade.  She  came  to  the  window,  and  was 
soon  joined  by  an  old  nurse,  who,  I  found  by  their  conversa 
tion,  had  been  kindly  awakened  by  the  considerate  Rebecca, 
and  invited  by  her  to  come  to  the  front  room  and  listen  to  the 
music ;  on  which  the  half-dozing  matron  made  no  comment, 
but  that f  sometimes  the  tune  went  away  up,  and  sometimes  it 
went  right  down/ 

"  Having  commenced  with  f  The  Soldier's  Bride/  I  was 
somewhat  surprised  at  the  martial  propensities  of  the  fair 
Quakeress,  who  in  a  loud  whisper  to  her  companion,  first 
wished  that  Frederick  Merrill  (for  she  had  at  once  recognised 
me)  would  play  and  sing  { The  Soldier's  Tear/  and  then  '  The 
Soldier's  Gratitude/  When  I  had  accomplished  both  these 
songs,  I  heard  her  tell  the  old  woman,  that  she  was  sure  <  The 
Battle  of  Prague'  would  go  well  on  the  guitar.  This  per 
formance,  however;  I  did  not  think  proper  to  undertake,  and  I 


364  THE   SERENADES. 

thereupon  prepared  to  withdraw,  to  the  audible  regret  of  the 
lovely  Rebecca. 

"  As  I  directed  my  steps  homeward,  I  happened  to  pass  the 
house  of  a  young  lady  whose  family  and  mine  have  long  been 
somewhat  acquainted,  and  who  has  acquired  (I  will  not  say 
how  deservedly)  a  most  unfortunate  sobriquet.  At  a  fancy 
ball,  last  winter,  she  appeared  in  the  character  of  Sterne's 
Maria,  dressed  in  a  white  jacket  and  petticoat,  with  vine  leaves 
in  her  hair,  and  a  flageolet  suspended  by  a  green  riband  over 
one  shoulder.  Her  mother,  a  very  silly  and  illiterate  woman, 
announced  her  as  '  Strange  Maria' — absurdly  introducing  her 
by  that  title,  and  saying  repeatedly  through  the  evening  to 
gentlemen  as  well  as  to  ladies — l  Have  you  seen  my  daughter 
yet  ? — Have  you  seen  Strange  Maria  ? — There  she  is,  sitting 
in  that  corner,  leaning  her  head  upon  her  hand — it  is  a  part 
of  her  character  to  sit  so — and  when  she  is  tired,  she  gets  up 
and  dances.  She  appears  to-night  as  Strange  Maria,  and  it 
suits  exactly,  as  her  name  is  really  Maria.  Her  aunt,  Mrs. 
Fondlesheep,  chose  the  character  for  her  out  of  some  book, 
and  Madame  Gaubert  made  the  jacket/ 

"  From  that  night,  the  poor  girl  has  gone  unconsciously  by 
this  foolish  nickname.  And,  unfortunately,  she  is  almost  as 
much  of  a  simpleton  as  her  mother,  though  she  was  educated 
at  a  great  boarding-school,  and  said  a  great  many  long  lessons. 

"I  took  my  seat  on  the  marble  carriage-step  in  front  of  the 
house,  and  the  moon  having  declined,  I  played  and  sung  '  Look 
out  upon  the  stars,  my  love/  Soon  after  I  commenced,  I  saw 
a  window  in  the  second  story  thrown  open,  and  the  literal  Ma 
ria  doing  exactly  as  she  was  bid,  in  earnestly  surveying  the 
stars — turning  her  head  about  that  she  might  take  a  view  of 
them  in  every  direction. 

"  I  then  began  the  beautiful  serenading  song  of  '  Lilla,  come 
down  to  me/  with  no  other  motive  than  that  of  hearing  my 
self  sing  it.  At  the  conclusion  of  the  air,  the  front  door 
softly  opened,  and  Strange  Maria  appeared  at  it,  dressed  in  a 
black  silk  frock,  with  a  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  carrying  a  bun 
dle  under  her  arm. 

"  She  looked  mysterious,  and  beckoned  to  me.  I  approached 
her,  somewhat  surprised.  She  put  the  bundle  into  my  hands, 
and  laying  her  finger  on  her  lips,  whispered — 'All's  safe — we 
can  get  off  now — I  have  just  had  time  to  put  up  a  change  of 
clothes,  and  you  must  carry  them  for  me/ 

"  '  My  dear  Miss  Maria/  said  I,  '  what  is  it  you  mean  ? 


THE   SERENADES.  365 

Excuse  me  for  saying  that  I  do  not  exactly  comprehend 
you.7 

" '  Now,  don't  pretend  to  be  so  stupid/  was  the  damsel's 
reply ;  '  did  you  not  invite  me  in  the  song  to  come  clown  and 
run  away  with  you  ?  You  sung  it  so  plain  that  I  heard  every 
word.  There  could  not  be  a  better  opportunity,  for  ma's  in 
the  country,  and  there  is  never  any  danger  of  waking  pa/ 

"  (  Really,  Miss  Maria/  said  I,  '  allow  me  to  say  that  you 
have  totally  misunderstood  me.' 

"'No  such  thing/  persisted  the  young  lady.  'Did  I  not 
hear  you  over  and  over  again  say,  "  Lilla,  come  down  to  me  ?" 
Though  I  never  was  allowed  to  see  a  play  or  read  a  novel,  I 
am  not  such  a  fool  that  I  cannot  understand  when  people  want 
to  run  away  with  me.  By  Lilla  you  of  course  meant  me,  just 
as  much  as  if  you  had  said  Maria.' 

"  *  On  my  honour/  I  expostulated,  l  you  are  entirely 
mistaken.  Only  permit  me  to  explain'— 

"  l  Nonsense/  interrupted  the  lady ;  ( the  song  was  plain 
enough.  And  so  I  got  ready,  and  stole  down  stairs  as  quickly 
as  possible.  Alderman  Pickwick  always  sits  up 'late  at  night, 
and  rises  before  day  to  write  for  the  newspapers.  He  lives 
just  round  the  corner,  and  never  objects  to  marry  any  couple 
that  comes  to  him.  So  let's  be  off/ 

"  1 1  entreat  you/  said  I,  '  to  listen  to  me  for  one  moment/ 

<l  i  Did  you  bring  a  ring  with  you  ?'  continued  the  fair 
eloper,  whose  present  volubility  surprised  me  no  less  than  her 
pertinacity,  having  hitherto  considered  her  as  one  of  the 
numerous  young  ladies  that  are  never  expected  to  talk. 

"  '  A  ring  !'  I  repeated ;  '  you  must  pardon  me,  but  I  really 
had  no  such  thought/ 

"  '  How  careless  !'  exclaimed  Maria.  t  Don't  you  know 
that  plain  rings  are  the  only  sort  used  at  weddings  ?  I  wish 
I  had  pulled  one  off  the  window  curtain  before  I  came  down. 
I  dare  say,  Squire  Pickwick  would  never  notice  whether  it 
was  brass  or  gold/ 

" { There  is  no  need  of  troubling  yourself  about  a  ring/ 
said  I. 

" f  True/  replied  she,  t  Quakers  get  married  without,  and 
why  should  not  we  ?  But  come,  we  must  not  stand  parleying 
here.  You  can't  think,  Mr.  Merrill,  how  glad  I  am  that  you 
came  for  me  before  any  one  else.  I  would  much  rather  run 
away  with  you,  than  with  Mr.  Simpson,  or  Mr.  Tomlins,  or 
Mr.  Carter.  Pa'  says  if  ever  he  does  let  me  marry,  he'll  choose 


366  THE    SERENADES. 

for  me  himself,  and  I  have  no  doubt  he'll  choose  some  ugly 
fright.  Fathers  are  such  bad  judges  of  people/ 

11 '  Miss  Maria/  said  I,  'you  mistake  me  entirely,  and  this 
error  must  be  rectified  at  once.  I  must  positively  undeceive 
you/ 

"At  that  moment,  the  door  half  opened — a  hand  was  put 
out,  and  seizing  the  arm  of  Maria,  drew  her  forcibly  inside. 
The  door  was  then  shut,  and  double  locked ;  and  I  heard  her 
receding  voice,  loudly  exclaiming — { Oh  !  pa' — now,  indeed,  pa' 
— who'd  have  thought,  pa';  that  you  were  listening  all  the 
time !' 

"  I  stood  motionless  with  joy  and  surprise  at  this  opportune 
release — and  I  recollected  that  once  during  our  scene  on  the 
door-step,  I  had  thought  I  heard  footsteps  in  the  entry. 

"  Presently  the  father  put  his  head  out  of  his  own  window 
and  said  to  me — '  Young  man,  you  may  go,  I  have  locked  her 
up/ — I  took  him  at  his  word  and  departed,  not  a  little  pleased 
at  having  been  extricated  in  so  summary  a  way  from  the  di 
lemma  in  which  the  absurdity  of  Strange  Maria  had  involved 

me/' 

*          *          ******          * 

About  a  week  after  this  conversation,  Cavender  inquired  of 
his  friend,  who  was  visiting  him  at  his  office,  if  he  had  again 
been  out  solus  on  a  serenading  excursion. 

"  No,"  replied  Merrill,  "  I  have  had  enough  of  that  non 
sense.  There  is  no  better  cure  for  folly,  and  particularly  for 
romantic  folly,  than  a  good  burlesque ;  and  I  find  I  have  been 
parodied  most  ridiculously  by  that  prince  of  fools,  old  Phara- 
by,  the  bachelor  in  an  auburn  wig  and  corsets,  that  lives  next 
door  to  Miss  Osbrook.  This  said  Pharaby  assumes  a  penchant 
for  my  opposite  neighbour,  the  rich  and  handsome  young 
widow,  Mrs.  Westwyn.  Taking  a  hint  from  my  serenading 
Emily  Osbrook,  but  far  outdoing  me,  he  has  every  night  since 
presented  himself  under  the  windows  of  the  fair  widow,  and 
tinkled  a  guitar — which  instrument  he  professes  to  have  learned 
during  a  three  months'  consulship  in  one  of  the  Spanish  West 
India  Islands.  He  plays  Spanish,  but  sings  Italian ;  and  with 
a  voice  and  manner  to  make  Paggi  tear  his  hair,  and  Pucci 
drop  down  dead. 

"  Mrs.  Westwyn,  whom  I  escorted  home  last  evening  from 
a  visit  to  Miss  Osbrook,  was  congratulating  herself  on  the 
appearance  of  rain ;  as  it  would  of  course  prevent  her  from 
being  disturbed  that  night  by  her  usual  serenader,  the  regu- 


THE   SERENADES.  367 

larity  of  whose  musical  visitations  had  become,  she  said,  abso 
lutely  intolerable. 

"  About  twelve  o'clock,  however,  I  heard  the  customary 
noise  in  front  of  Mrs.  Westwyn's  house,  notwithstanding  that 
the  rain  had  set  in,  and  was  falling  very  fast.  I  looked  out, 
and  beheld  the  persevering  inamorato  standing  upright  beneath 
the  shelter  of  an  umbrella  held  over  his  head  by  a  black  man, 
and  twitching  the  strings  of  his  guitar  to  the  air  of  '  Dalla 
gioja.'  I  was  glad  when  the  persecuted  widow,  losing  all 
patience,  raised  her  sash,  and  in  a  peremptory  tone,  com 
manded  him  to  depart  and  trouble  her  no  more ;  threatening, 
if  he  ever  again  repeated  the  offence,  to  have  him  taken  into 
custody  by  the  watchman.  Poor  Pharaby  was  struck  aghast ; 
and  being  too  much  disconcerted  to  offer  an  apology,  he  stood 
motionless  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  replacing  his  guitar 
in  its  case,  and  tucking  it  under  his  arm,  he  stole  off  round  the 
corner,  his  servant  following  close  behind  with  the  umbrella. 
From  that  moment  I  abjured  serenades." 

"  What !  all  sorts  ?"  inquired  Cavender. 

"  All,"  replied  Merrill — "  both  gregarious  and  solitary.  The 
truth  is,  I  this  morning  obtained  the  consent  of  the  loveliest 
of  women  to  make  me  the  happiest  of  men,  this  day  three 
months ;  and  therefore  I  have  something  else  to  think  of  than 
strumming  guitars  or  blowing  flutes  about  the  streets  at  night." 

"  I  congratulate  you,  most  sincerely,"  said  Cavender,  shak 
ing  hands  with  his  friend ;  "  Miss  Osbrook  is  certainly,  as  the 
phrase  is,  possessed  of  every  qualification  to  render  the  marriage 
state  happy.  And  though  I  and  my  other  associates  in  har 
mony  have  not  so  good  an  excuse  for  leaving  off  our  musical 
rambles,  yet  I  believe  we  shall,  at  least,  give  them  up  till  next 
summer — and  perhaps,  by  that  time,  we  may  have  devised 
some  other  means  of  obtaining  the  good  graces  of  the  ladies." 

"But  apropos  to  music,"  continued  Cavender;  "if  I  can 
obtain  my  sister's  permission,  I  will  show  you  a  letter  she 
received  some  time  since  from  a  young  friend  of  hers  with 
whom  she  is  engaged  in  a  whimsical  correspondence  under 
fictitious  names,  somewhat  in  imitation  of  the  ladies  of  the 
last  century.  Both  girls  have  been  reading  the  Spectator, 
and  have  consequently  taken  a  fancy  to  the  Addisonian  plan 
of  occasionally  throwing  their  ideas  into  the  form  of  dreams 
or  visions  •  addressing  each  other  as  Ariclla  Shadow  and  Om- 
brelina  Vapour." 

Cavender  then  withdrew  to  his  sister's  parlour,  and  in  a  few 
31 


368  THE    SERENADES. 

minutes  returned  with  the  letter,  which  he  put  into  Merrill's 
hand,  telling  him  to  read  it  while  he  finished  looking  over 
some  deeds  that  had  been  left  with  him  for  examination. 

Merrill  opened  the  letter,  and  perused  its  contents,  which 
we  will  present  to  our  readers  under  the  title  of 

A  DREAM  OF  SONGS. 

MY  DEAR  OMBRELINA, 

Last  evening,  on  my  return  from  Melania  Medley's  musical 
party,  where  nothing  was  played  or  sung  that  had  been  out 
more  than  two  or  three  weeks,  I  could  not  but  reflect  on  the 
fate  that  attends  even  the  most  meritorious  compositions  of  the 
sons  of  song :  honoured  for  awhile  with  a  short-lived  popu 
larity,  and  then  allowed  to  float  down  the  stream  of  time 
unnoticed  and  forgotten — or  only  remembered  as  things  too 
entirely  passe  to  be  listened  to  by  "  ears  polite" — or  even 
mentioned  in  their  presence.  It  is  true  that  as  soon  as  a  song 
becomes  popular  it  ceases  to  be  fashionable ;  but  is  not  its 
popularity  an  evidence  of  its  merit,  or  at  least  of  its  possess 
ing  melody  and  originality,  and  of  its  sounds  being  such  as  to 
give  pleasure  to  the  general  ear  ?  Who  ever  heard  a  dull  and 
insipid  tune  played  or  sung  in  the  streets,  or  whistled  by  the 
boys? 

Falling  asleep  with  these  notions  in  my  head,  they  sug 
gested  a  dream  in  which  I  imagined  myself  visited  by  imper 
sonations  of  almost  innumerable  songs,  many  of  which  had 
been  "  pretty  fellows  in  their  day,"  but  have  now  given  place 
to  others  whose  chief  characteristic  is  that  of  having  no  cha 
racter  at  all. 

The  following  outline  may  give  you,  dear  Ombrelina,  a 
slight  idea  of  my  vision,  making  due  allowance  for  the  con 
fusion,  incoherence,  and  absurdity  that  are  always  found  in 
those  pictures  that  imagination,  when  loosened  from  the  con 
trol  of  reason,  presents  to  the  mind's  eye  of  the  slumberer. 

"  I  dreamt  that  I  dwelt  in  marble  halls,"  being  mistress  of 
a  handsome  and  spacious  mansion  in  a  fine  romantic  country, 
whose  hills  and  woodlands  sloped  down  towards  the  ocean.  I 
seemed  to  be  duly  prepared  for  the  reception  of  a  numerous 
party  of  visiters,  whom  I  recognised  intuitively,  as  soon  as  I 
saw  them,  for  the  heroes  and  heroines  of  certain  well-known 
songs — also  being  familiar  with  the  characters  of  many  of 
them  from  my  intimate  acquaintance  with  Aunt  Balladina's 
old  music-books. 


THE   SERENADES.  369 


earliest  of  my  guests  were  some  much-esteemed  friends, 
dants  of  the  "  Scots  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled" — they 


The 

descendants 

wore  "  The  Tartan  Plaidie"  and  "  The  White  Cockade"— 
and  they  looked  as  if  they  had  all  been  "  Over  the  Water  to 
Charlie."  I  felt  particularly  honoured  by  the  presence  of  that 
gallant  chieftain,  "  Kinloch  of  Kinloch,"  who,  for  the  express 
purpose  of  making  me  a  visit,  had  relinquished  for  a  time 
his  grouse-shooting  excursions  "O'er  the  moor  among  the 
heather" — had  given  up  his  musings  on  "The  banks  and 
braes  o'  Bonnie  Boon,"  and  bade  for  awhile  "  Adieu,  a  heart- 
Warm  fond  adieu"  to  "The  Birks  of  Aberfeldy." 

Next  arrived  the  ancient  laird  "Logie  o'  Buchan;"  and 
then  "Auld  Robin  Gray"  came  tottering  along  supported  by 
his  pensive  daughter  Alice,  and  by  "  Duncan  Gray,"  his 
laughter-loving  son,  well  known  among  the  lasses  as  "  The 
Braw  Wooer."  The  Gray  family  took  their  seats  at  "  The 
Ingle  Side,"  where  old  "  John  Anderson"  and  his  wife  had 
already  established  themselves  close  together  in  two  arm-chairs. 
"Logie  o'  Buchan"  joined  them;  but  his  habits  being  some 
what  taciturn,  it  was  not  till  they  talked  of  "  Auld  lang  syne" 
that  he  was  induced  to  mingle  in  the  conversation — yet  the 
ice  once  broken,  he  was  as  merry  in  his  reminiscences  as  either 
of  his  companions. 

Robin  Gray  reminded  the  laird  of  Buchan  of  his  elopement 
with  that  extreme  blonde  the  "  Lassie  wi'  the  lint-white  locks," 
who,  when  only  "  Within  a  mile  of  Edinburgh,"  had  given 
him  the  slip  and  ran  off  with  "  Jockey  to  the  Fair."  The 
laird  retaliated  by  laughing  at  Robin  for  having  been  one  of 
the  six-and-thirty  suitors  of  that  ugliest  of  heiresses,  "  Tibby 
Fouller  o'  the  Grlen."  John  Anderson  was  made  to  recollect 
his  having  been  deserted  in  his  youth  by  the  beautiful  but 
mercenary  "  Katrine  Ogie,"  who  afterwards  became  "  Roy's 
wife  of  Aldivalloch,"  and  in  taking  the  carle  and  leaving  her 
Johnnie,  furnished  another  illustration  of  the  fallacy  of  the 
remark,  "  Oh  !  say  not  woman's  heart  is  bought." 

These  old  stories  were  at  first  very  amusing,  but  they  con 
tinued  so  long  and  with  so  many  episodes  and  digressions, 
that  we  at  length  discovered  "  We  were  a'  noddin."  Finally 
they  were  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  "  Bonnie  Jean," 
"The  Lass  of  Patie's  Mill,"  "Bessie  Bell  and  Mary  Gray," 
and  other  "  Flowers  o'  the  Forest,"  who  were  following  that 
gay  deceiver  "Robin  Adair/'  himself  a  verification  of  the 


370  THE   SERENADES. 

Well-known  fact  that  "  Though  love  is  warm  awhile,  soon  it 
grows  cold."  * 

Robin  Adair,  whose  mind,  after  all,  seems  to  have  run 
chiefly  on  balls  and  plays  (a  visit  to  Paris  having  quite  spoiled 
him  for  the  society  of  "  The  Braes  of  Balquither"),  had  first 
made  love  to  the  unfortunate  "  Highland  Mary,"  and  then 
gayly  and  heartlessly  quitted  her  with  that  useless  piece  of 
advice  which  nobody  ever  took,  "  Sigh  not  for  love."  Next 
he  paid  his  devoirs  to  "Jessie  the  flower  o'  Dumblane,"  as  he 
met  her  one  morning  "  Comin'  thro'-  the  rye."  And  he  had 
subsequently  entered  into  a  flirtation  with  "Dumbarton's 
bonny  Belle" — a  young  lady  whose  literary  and  scientific 
achievements  had  lately  procured  for  her  the  unique  title  of 
"  The  Blue  Bell  of  Scotland."  But  it  was  whispered  in  the 
most  authentic  circles  that  she  had  recently  frightened  him 
away  by  asking  him  that  puzzling  question  "  Why  does  azure 
deck  the  sky  ?" 

Yet,  however  the  follies  and  inconstancies  of  Robin  Adair 
might  have  rendered  him  a  favourite  with  the  ladies  (who 
often  tapped  him  with  their  fans,  saying,  "  Fly  away  pretty 
moth"),  he  did  not  seem  to  be  held  in  equal  esteem  by  his 
manly  compatriots.  On  his  presuming  to  clap  tl  Young  Loch- 
invar"  on  the  shoulder,  and  accost  him  as  "  Friend  of  my 
soul,"  that  high-spirited  chieftain  immediately  proceeded  to 
<{  Draw  the  sword  o'  Scotland,"  with  a  view  of  chastising  his 
familiarity.  But  "  Swift  as  the  flash,"  Robin  eluded  the 
blow,  and  danced  out  of  the  room  singing  "  I'd  be  a  Butter- 

%•" 

At  the  desire  of  several  of  the  ladies,  I  accompanied  them 
to  the  veranda  to  look  at  the  prospect  of  the  beautiful  sur 
rounding  country,  and  our  attention  was  soon  arrested  by 
notes  of  distant  music. 

"  What  airy  sounds !"  was  our  unanimous  exclamation ; 
and  we  almost  fancied  that  they  must  have  proceeded  from 
the  "  Harp  of  the  winds,"  till  presently  we  heard  the  tramp 
of  horses,  and  beheld  a  numerous  company  descending  by  its 
circuitous  path  the  hill  that  rose  in  front  of  the  house.  As 
"  I  saw  them  on  their  winding  way,"  I  had  no  difficulty  in 
recognising  each  individual  of  the  troop. 

Foremost  came  "  The  Baron  of  Mowbray"  mounted  on  his 
"  Arab  Steed,"  and  accompanied  by  a  "  Captive  Knight" 
whom  he  had  rescued  from  a  Saracen  prison,  and  I  soon  dis 
covered  that  it  was  "  Dunois  the  young  and  brave."  Dunoia 


THE  SERENADES.  871 

Was  followed  by  his  accomplished  but  wilful  page,  "  The  Min 
strel  Boy/'  who,  having  broken  his  harp  in  a  fit  of  spite,  was 
obliged  to  substitute  an  inferior  instrument,  and  to  strike 
"  The  Light  G-uitar,"  which  he  retained  as  "  The  Legacy'7  of 
a  "  Gallant  Troubadour0  who  had  fallen  beside  him  in  battle, 
and  of  whose  untimely  fate  he  had  sent  notice  to  his  "  Isa- 
belle"  by  a  "  Carrier  Pigeon," 

Behind  the  youthful  minstrel  strode  a  "  Happy  Tawny 
Moor"  performing  powerfully  on  "  The  Tartar  Drum." 

"  The  Young  Son  of  Chivalry"  brought  with  him  a  beauti 
ful  damsel  whom  he  had  found  in  a  "  Bower  of  Hoses  by  Ben- 
dameer's  Stream" — and  whose  eyes,  resembling  those  of  "The 
Light  Gazelle,"  identified  her  as  "  Araby's  Daughter."  "  Rich 
and  rare  were  the  gems  she  wore ;"  and  she  had  testified  her 
readiness  to  "  Fly  to  the  Desert"  with  her  brave  Dunois ;  to 
glide  with  him  "  Thro*  icy  valleys,"  in  the  wilds  of  Siberia; 
or  to  accompany  him  even  across  "The  sea — the  sea — the 
open  sea."  No  music  would  have  sounded  so  sweetly  in  her 
ear  as  "  The  Bridemaid's  Chorus,"  and  she  would  willingly 
have  given  all  her  pearls  and  diamonds  in  exchange  for  "  The 
plain  gold  ring." 

Next  came  a  gentleman  in  naval  uniform,  whom  I  gladly 
recognised  as  my  former  acquaintance,  "  The  Post  Captain  •" 
for  the  last  time  "  We  met — 'twas  in  a  crowd" — and  I  had 
not  an  opportunity  of  saying  more  than  a  few  words  to  him. 
He  was  not  in  his  usual  spirits,  having  lately  been  jilted  by 
the  beautiful  but  "  Faithless  Emma,"  who  knew  not  how  to 
value  "  The  Manly  Heart"  that  had  so  long  been  devoted  to 
her.  He  was  accompanied  by  a  "  Smart  Young  Midshipman," 
and  followed  at  a  respectful  distance  by  some  hardy-looking 
"  Tars  of  Columbia,"  who,  whether  exposed  to  the  storms  of 
t(  The  Bay  of  Biscay,"  or  sailing  before  the  wind  with  "  A 
wet  sheet  and  a  flowing  sea,"  or  engaged  in  contest  with  "The 
Mariners  of  England,"  are  always  ready  to  venture  life  and 
limb  in  the  cause  of  "  America,  Commerce,  and  Freedom." 

After  them  came  a  motley  group  whose  homes  were  to  be 
found  in  every  part  of  the  world,  and  amongst  whom  even 
"  The  G-ipsies'  Wild  Chant"  was  heard  at  intervals.  Looking 
as  if  he  had  just  issued  from  "  The  vale  of  Ovoca,"  and 
wrapping  around  him  a  damp  overcoat,  threadbare  wherever 
it  was  whole,  came  an  "  Exile  of  Erin,"  who  proved  to  be  the 
famous  serenading  robber,  "  Ned  of  the  Hills."  Near  him 
was  another  outlaw,  "  Allen-a-Dale,"  who,  being  something 
31* 


372  THE  SERENADES. 

of  an  exquisite  (notwithstanding  his  deficiency  in  ploughland 
and  firewood)  looked  with  hauteur  on  "  The  wayworn  Travel 
ler."  The  Hibernian  freebooter  was  not,  it  is  true,  as  well 
supported  as  when  "  Proudly  and  wide  his  standard  flew ;" 
having  found  by  recent  experience  that  it  is  not  always  safe 
to  go  a-robbing  with  flying  colours :  but  he  was  not  without 
his  followers  (what  Irishman  is  ?)  and  he  and  they  returned 
with  interest  the  contemptuous  glances  of  the  English  bri 
gand. 

There  were  representatives  of  every  nation  and  of  every 
period  in  which  the  voice  of  music  has  been  heard.  Some  were 
serious  and  some  were  gay — some  were  dignified,  and  others 
very  much  the  contrary — some  had  always  moved  in  the  first 
circle,  and  some  were  in  the  people's  line.  I  saw  a  "  Bava 
rian  Broom  Girl"  endeavouring  to  persuade  "  Mynheer  Van 
Clam"  to  waltz  with  her  round  the  hill :  but  finding  it  impos 
sible  to  induce  in  him  a  rotatory  motion,  and  that  his  steps 
never  could  be  made  to  describe  a  circle,  she  wisely  gave  him 
up  for  a  "  Merry  Swiss  Boy,"  who  whirled  round  with  her  to 
her  heart's  content,  though  his  sister  would  not  dance,  but 
was  perpetually  wailing  "  Oh  !  take  me  back  to  Switzerland." 
There  was  also  the  disdainful  "  Polly  Hopkins"  sailing  round 
her  ill-used  but  persevering  lover,  "  Tommy  Tompkins." 
Among  others  came  the  foolish  "  Maid  of  Lodi,"  ambling  on 
her  poney;  the  deplorable  " Galley  Slave;"  the  moaning 
"  Beggar  Girl ;"  and  several  others  with  whose  company  I 
could  well  have  dispensed. 

The  sound  of  voices  now  came  from  the  sea,  and  we  saw 
several  boats  approaching  the  shore — "  Faintly  as  tolls  the 
evening  chime,"  we  distinguished  the  Canadian  rowers.  Next 
came  the  fellow-fishermen  of  Masaniello  chanting  their  Bar 
carole  ]  and  next  we  recognised  the  swiftly -gliding  and  "  Bon 
nie  Boat"  of  a  party  of  musical  Caledonians  on  their  return 
from  a  fruitless  attempt  to  wake  the  "  Maid  of  Lorn."  I 
looked  in  vain  for  my  sensible  and  excellent  friend,  "The 
Pilot,"  whom  I  was  afterwards  informed  by  his  daughter, 
"  Black-eyed  Susan,"  had  gone  to  the  assistance  of  an  en 
dangered  vessel,  whose  "  Minute  Gun  at  Sea"  he  had  heard 
the  night  before. 

I  went  down  with  the  other  ladies  to  the  portico  to  receive 
the  company  that  was  every  moment  arriving,  and  I  found  the 
avenue  that  led  to  it  already  filled.  Among  the  Hibernians, 
we  saw  a  wandering  musician  who  had  "  Come  o'er  the  sea" 


THE  SERENADES.  873 

to  pursue  his  profession.     However,  he  succeeded  but  badly  j 
after  several  attempts,  finding  it  impossible  even  to  "  Remem 
ber  the  glories  of  Brian  the  Brave. "     The  truth  is,  he  was 
confused  and  disconcerted  by  discovering,  when  too  late,  that 
the  harp  he  had  in  haste  brought  with  him,  was  the  it 
one  which  had  hung  so  long  on  Tara's  walls  that  its  i 
music  was  undoubtedly  fled;  all  the  strings  being  1 
This  contre-tems  excited  the  sneers  of  the  English  part    f  his 
audience,  but  I  besought  them  to  "Blame  not  the  baru, 
whose  countrymen  I  saw  were  beginning  to  kindle  in  his  be 
half,  and  knowing  that  "  Avenging  and  bright  are  the  swift 
swords  of  Erin,"  I  made  peace  by  ordering  refreshments  to  be 
brought  out,  and  sending  round  among  them  the  "  Crooskeen 
Lawn." 

Again  the  sound  of  distant  music  floated  on  the  air  from 
"Over  the  hills  and  far  away."  At  first,  we  thought  that 
"  The  Campbells  were  coming"  (none  of  that  noble  and  war 
like  clan  having  accompanied  the  numerous  "Sons  of  the 
Clyde"  that  had  already  arrived),  and  the  male  part  of  our 
company  were  preparing  to  "  Hurrah  for  the  Bonnets  of  Blue." 
But  as  the  sounds  approached,  they  were  easily  distinguished 
for  the  ever-charming  and  exhilarating  notes  of  "  The  Hunters' 
Chorus,"  that  splendid  triumph  of  musical  genius.  We  soon 
saw  the  bold  yagers  of  the  Hartz  forest  descending  the  path 
that  led  round  the  hill,  their  rifles  in  their  hands,  their  oak- 
sprigs  in  their  hats,  and  looking  as  much  at  home  as  if  they 
were  still  in  their  "  Father-land." 

I  welcomed  the  whole  company,  though  well  aware  that 
among  them  all  there  was  "  Nobody  coming  to  marry  me ;" 
and,  as  "  Twilight  dews  were  falling  fast,"  I  invited  them  into 
the  house,  which  fortunately  was  large  enough  to  accommodate 
them.  The  evening  was  spent  in  much  hilarity.  "  Merrily 
every  bosom  boundeth,"  and  "  Away  with  melancholy,"  was 
the  general  feeling.  A  toast  was  suggested  in  compliment  to 
their  hostess }  but  unwilling  that  they  should  "  Drink  to  me 
only,"  I  proposed  "  A  health  to  all  good  lasses,"  and  it  went 
rourM  with  enthusiasm. 

Our  festivity  met  with  a  little  interruption  from  "  The  Maid 
of  Marlivale,"  who,  while  taking  one  of  her  usual  moonlight 
rambles,  had  been  frightened  by  something  that  she  supposed 
to  be  "  The  Erl  King,"  and  she  rushed  in  among  us,  in  a 
state  of  terror  which  we  had  some  difficulty  in  appeasing. 

After  supper,  at  which  "  Jim  Crow"  was  chief  waiter  (till 


874  THE  SERENADES, 

his  antics  obliged  me  to  dismiss  him  from  the  room),  musi« 
and  dancing  continued  till  a  late  hour.  At  length  "  I  knew 
by  the  smoke"  that  the  lamps  were  about  to  expire,  and  I  waa 
not  sorry  when  the  party  from  Scotland  broke  up  the  company 
by  taking  leave  with  "  Gude  night,  and  joy  be  wi'  you  a' " — • 
and  in  a  short  time  "All  the  blue  bonnets  were  over  the 
border."  I  must  tell  you  in  confidence,  my  dear  Ombrelina, 
that  "  A  chieftain  to  the  highlands  bound"  presented  me  "  The 
last  rose  of  summer/'  and  was  very  importunate  with  me  to 
become  the  companion  of  his  journey  and  the  lady  of  his 
castle ;  but  I  had  no  inclination  to  intrust  my  happiness  to  a 
stranger,  and  to  bid  "  My  native  land,  good  night." 

Hitherto,  whenever,  "I've  wandered  in  dreams,"  it  has 
generally  been  my  unlucky  fate  to  lose  all  distinct  recollection 
of  them  before  "  The  morn  unbars  the  gates  of  light."  This 
once  I  have  been  more  fortunate.  But  still,  my  dear  Ombre- 
lina,  I  think  it  safest  to  intrust  to  your  care  this  slight 
memorandum  of  my  singular  vision.  And  should  you  lose  it, 
and  I  forget  it,  we  have  still  the  consolation  that  "'Tis  but 
fancy's  sketch." 

ARIELLA  SHADOW. 

"  In  truth,"  said  Merrill,  folding  up  the  letter,  after  making 
various  comments  upon  it,  "on  the  subject  of  music,  this 
young  lady  seems  quite  au  naturel.  I  fear  for  her  success  in 
society." 

"  Then,"  observed  Cavender,  "  you  must  exert  your  influ 
ence  in  inducing  her  to  change  or  suppress  her  opinion  on  this 
topic,  and  perhaps  on  some  others  in  which  she  may  be  equally 
at  variance  with  les  gens  comme  il  faut." 

"  My  influence  ?"  replied  Merrill.  "  Is  it  possible  that  I 
know  the  lady  ?" 

"  You  know  her  so  well,"  answered  Cavender,  "  that  I 
wonder  you  are  unacquainted  with  her  autograph ;  but  I  sup 
pose  your  courtship  has  been  altogether  verbal." 

"  Emily  Osbrook  !"  exclaimed  Merrill.  "  Is  she,  indeed, 
the  author  of  this  letter  ?  It  is  singular  enough  that  I  have 
never  yet  happened  to  see  her  handwriting ;  and  once  seen,  I 
could  not  have  forgotten  it.  But  I  can  assure  you  that  she 
has  sufficient  knowledge  of  the  art  to  be  fully  capable  of 
appreciating  its  difficulties  and  understanding  its  beauties,  and 
of  warmly  admiring  whatever  of  our  fashionable  music  is  really 
good ;  that  is,  when  the  sound  is  not  only  a  combination  of 


TUB   SERENADES.  875 

beautiful  tones,  but  also  an  echo  to  the  sense.  We  have  often 
lamented  that  so  many  fine  composers  have  deigned  to  furnish 
charming  airs  for  common-place  or  nonsensical  poetry,  and  that 
some  of  the  most  exquisite  effusions  of  our  poets  are  degraded 
by  an  association  with  tasteless  and  insipid  music.  But  when 
music  that  is  truly  excellent  is  '  married  to  immortal  verse/  and 
when  the  words  are  equal  to  the  air,  who  does  not  perceive 
that  the  hearers  listen  with  two-fold  enjoyment  ?" 

"  Two-fold  I"  exclaimed  Cavender. — "  The  pleasure  of  listen 
ing  to  delightful  notes,  with  delightful  words,  uttered  with 
taste  and  feeling  by  an  accomplished  and  intellectual  singer, 
is  one  of  the  most  perfect  that  can  fall  to  to  the  lot  of  beings 
who  are  unable  to  hear  the  music  of  the  spheres  and  the  songs 
of  Paradise." 


SOCIABLE    VISITING. 


"Shadows,  clouds,  and  darkness  rest  upon  it." — ADDISON. 

AFTER  a  residence  of  several  years  at  their  country-house 
in  the  vicinity  of  Philadelphia,  circumstances  induced  Mr. 
Heathcote  to  establish  himself  again  in  the  city.  This  re 
moval  gave  great  satisfaction  to  his  family,  particularly  to  his 
wife  and  to  his  two  elder  children,  Harriet  and  Albert,  as 
they  all  had  very  good  reasons  for  preferring  a  decided  town- 
life  to  the  numerous  conveniences  of  ruralizing  at  a  villa  both 
in  winter  and  summer.  They  were  called  on  in  due  time  by 
all  their  former  city  friends ;  most  of  whom,  indeed,  had 
sedulously  kept  up  their  acquaintance  with  the  Heathcote 
family  by  frequent  visits  to  them  during  their  long  sojourn  in 
the  country. 

By  all  these  friends,  the  Heathcotes  were  invited  to  tea  in 
form,  sometimes  to  large  parties,  sometimes  to  small  parties, 
and  sometimes  to  meet  only  the  family  circle.  And  Mrs. 
Heathcote  had  made  a  return  for  these  civilities  by  giving  an 
evening  party,  which  included  the  whole  range  of  her  friends 
and  acquaintances,  while  her  husband  got  rid  of  his  similar 
obligations  by  a  series  of  dinners. 

These  duties  being  over,  and  the  family  settled  quietly  down 
into  every-day  life,  the  invitations  for  particular  times  became 
less  frequent ;  gradually  subsiding  into  pressing  entreaties 
from  their  friends  to  waive  all  formality,  and  to  come  sociably 
and  take  tea  with  them  whenever  they  felt  an  inclination, 
without  waiting  for  the  ceremony  of  being  regularly  asked. 
These  intimations  were  at  once  declined  by  Mrs.  Heathcote, 
who  declared  herself  "  no  visitor,"  her  large  family  (for  she 
had  eight  children)  giving  her  always  sufficient  occupation  at 

(376) 


SOCIABLE   VISITING.  377 

home.  Such  excuses,  however,  were  not  admitted  from  Har 
riet,  who  was  handsome,  lively,  and  intelligent,  and  much 
liked  by  all  who  knew  her.  She  was  fond  of  society,  and  had 
no  objection  to  visiting  in  all  its  branches.  Her  days  were 
generally  passed  in  constant  and  rational  employment,  and 
though  her  evenings  were  pleasant  enough  at  home,  still  she 
liked  variety,  and  thought  it  would  be  very  agreeable  to  visit 
her  friends  occasionally  on  the  terms  proposed ;  and  she  an 
ticipated  much  quiet  enjoyment  at  these  extemporaneous  tea- 
drinkings.  We  must  premise  that  the  sociable  visits  performed 
by  our  heroine  did  not,  in  reality,  all  follow  each  other  con 
secutively,  though,  for  the  sake  of  brevity,  it  is  expedient  for 
us  to  relate  them  in  that  manner.  Between  some  of  them 
were  long  intervals,  during  which  she,  of  course,  received  oc 
casional  invitations  in  regular  form  j  and  a  due  proportion  of 
her  evenings  was  spent  in  places  of  public  amusement.  Our 
present  design  is  merely  to  give  a  sketch  of  the  events  which 
ensued  when  Harriet  Heathcote,  taking  her  friends  at  their 
word,  availed  herself  of  their  earnest  entreaties  to  visit  them 
sociably  :  that  is,  without  being  either  invited  or  expected. 

In  compliance  with  the  oft-repeated  request  of  her  old  ac 
quaintances,  the  two  Miss  Drakelows,  to  spend  a  long  after 
noon  with  them,  coming  early  and  bringing  her  sewing,  our 
heroine  set  out  on  this  visit  at  four  o'clock,  taking  her  work- 
basket  in  her  hand.  The  Miss  Drakelows,  indeed,  had  urged 
her  to  come  immediately  after  dinner,  that  they  might  have 
the  longer  enjoyment  of  her  company;  and  Harriet,  for  her 
part,  liked  them  so  well  (for  they  were  very  agreeable  girls), 
that  she  had  no  apprehension  of  finding  the  visit  tedious. 

On  arriving  at  the  house,  the  servant  who  opened  the  door 
informed  her  that  both  the  young  ladies  were  out.  Harriet, 
much  disappointed,  was  turning  to  go  home  again,  when  their 
mother,  old  Mrs.  Drakelow,  appeared  at  the  door  of  the  front 
parlour,  and  hastening  forward,  seized  her  by  both  hands,  and 
insisted  on  her  coming  in,  saying  that  Ellen  and  Fanny  had 
only  gone  out  shopping  with  Mrs.  Eastwood  (their  married 
sister),  and  that  she  was  in  momentary  expectation  of  their 
return.  Harriet  found  it  so  difficult  to  resist  the  entreaties  of 
the  old  lady,  who  was  always  delighted  to  see  visiters,  that  she 
yielded  and  accompanied  her  into  the  parlour. 

"Well,  my  dear  Miss  Harriet,"  said  Mrs.  Drakelow,  "I 
am  really  very  glad  that  you  have  come,  at  last,  just  as  we 
wished  you,  without  any  ceremony.  I  always  think  a  visit 


378  SOCIABLE  VISITING. 

the  more  agreeable  for  being  unexpected.  Do  take  off  your 
cloak.  My  daughters  will  be  at  home  in  a  few  minutes,  and 
I  dare  say  they  will  bring  Mrs.  Eastwood  with  them,  and  then 
we  will  make  her  stay  to  tea.  We  shall  have  a  charming 
evening." 

Miss  Heathcote  took  out  her  work,  and  Mrs.  Drakelow 
resumed  her  knitting,  and  endeavoured  to  entertain  her  guest 
by  enumerating  those  among  her  own  acquaintances  that  per 
sisted  in  using  knitting-sheaths,  and  those  that  could  knit  just 
as  well  without  them  by  holding  the  needles  in  a  different 
manner.  She  also  discussed  the  relative  merits  of  ribbed 
welts  and  rolled  welts,  and  gave  due  honour  to  certain  expe 
ditious  ladies  that  could  knit  a  pair  of  large  stockings  in  three 
days ;  and  higher  glory  still  to  several  that  had  been  known  to 
perform  that  exploit  in  two  days. 

In  truth,  the  old  lady  was  one  of  those  dull  wearisome 
people,  that  are  only  tolerated  because  they  are  good  and 
respectable.  She  had  no  reading ;  no  observation,  except  of 
trifles  not  worth  observing ;  no  memory,  but  of  things  not 
worth  remembering,  and  her  ideas,  which  were  very  limited 
in  number,  had  all  her  life  flowed  in  the  same  channel.  Still, 
Mrs.  Drakelow  thought  herself  a  very  sensible  woman,  and 
believed  that  her  conversation  could  not  be  otherwise  than 
agreeable ;  and  therefore,  whenever  she  had  an  opportunity, 
she  talked  almost  incessantly.  It  is  true,  that  when  her 
daughters  were  present,  she  was  content  to  be  comparatively 
silent,  as  she  regarded  them  with  great  deference,  and  listened 
to  them  always  with  habitual  admiration. 

Evening  came,  and  the  young  ladies  did  not  return ;  though 
Mrs.  Drakelow  was  still  expecting  them  every  moment.  Fi 
nally,  she  concluded  that  Mrs.  Eastwood  had  prevailed  on 
them  to  go  home  and  take  tea  with  her.  "  So  much  the  better 
for  me/'  said  Mrs.  Drakelow,  "  for  now,  my  dear  Miss  Harriet, 
I  shall  have  you  all  to  myself."  She  then  ordered  tea  to  be 
brought  immediately,  and  Harriet  saw  nothing  in  prospect  but 
a  long,  tedious  evening  with  the  prosing  old  lady ;  and  she 
knew  that  it  would  be  at  least  nine  o'clock,  or  perhaps  ten, 
before  her  brother  came  to  see  her  home. 

The  evening,  as  she  anticipated,  was  indeed  tedious.  Mrs. 
Drakelow  took  upon  herself  "  the  whole  expense  of  the  con 
versation,"  talked  of  cheap  shops  and  dear  shops,  and  specified 
the  prices  that  had  been  given  for  almost  every  article  of  dress 
that  had  been  purchased  by  her  daughters  or  herself  during 


SOCIABLE  VISITING.  379 

the  last  year.  She  told  a  long  story  of  a  piece  of  linen  which 
her  friend  Mrs.  Willett  had  bought  for  her  husband,  and  which 
went  to  pieces  before  it  was  made  up,  splitting  down  in  streaks 
during  the  process  of  stroking  the  gathers.  She  told  the  rent 
that  was  given  by  all  her  acquaintances  that  lived  in  rented 
houses,  and  the  precise  price  paid  by  those  that  had  purchased 
their  dwellings.  She  described  minutely  the  particulars  of 
several  long  illnesses  that  had  taken  place  among  her  relations 
and  friends ;  and  the  exact  number  of  persons  that  attended 
their  funerals  when  they  died,  as  on  those  occasions  she  said 
she  made  it  a  rule  always  to  count  the  company.  She  men 
tioned  several  circumstances  which  proved  to  demonstration, 
that  the  weather  was  usually  cold  in  winter  and  warm  in 
summer ;  and  she  gave  a  circumstantial  history  of  her  four 
last  cats,  with  suitable  episodes  of  rats  and  mice. 

The  old  lady's  garrulity  was  so  incessant,  her  tone  so  mo 
notonous,  and  her  narratives  so  totally  devoid  of  either  point 
or  interest,  that  Miss  Heathcpte  caught  herself  several  times 
on 'the  verge  of  falling  asleep.  She  frequently  stole  anxious 
glances  at  the  time-piece,  and  when  it  was  nine  o'clock  she 
roused  herself  by  the  excitement  of  hoping  every  moment  for 
the  arrival  of  Albert. 

At  length  she  heard  the  agreeable  sound  of  the  door-bell, 
but  it  was  only  a  shoemaker's  boy  that  had  brought  home  a 
pair  of  new  shoes  for  Mrs.  Drakelow,  who  tried  them  on,  and 
talked  about  them  for  half  an  hour,  telling  various  stories  of 
tight  shoes  and  loose  shoes,  long  shoes  and  short  shoes.  Fi 
nally,  Albert  Heathcote  made  his  welcome  appearance,  and 
Harriet  joyfully  prepared  for  her  departure ;  though  the  old 
lady  entreated  her  "  to  sit  awhile  longer,  and  not  to  take  away 
her  brother  so  soon." 

"  You  cannot  imagine,"  said  Mrs.  Drakelow,  "  how  disap 
pointed  the  girls  will  feel,  at  happening  to  be  from  home  on 
this  afternoon  above  all  others.  If  they  had  had  the  'most 
distant  idea  of  a  visit  from  you  to-day,  they  would,  I  am  sure, 
have  either  deferred  their  shopping,  or  made  it  as  short  as 
possible.  But  do  not  be  discouraged,  my  dear  Miss  Harriet," 
continued  the  good t old  lady,  "I  hope  you  will  very  soon 
favour  us  with  another  sociable  visit.  I  really  do  not  know 
when  I  have  passed  so  pleasant  an  evening.  It  has  seemed 
to  me  not  more  than  half  an  hour  since  tea." 

About  a  fortnight  afterwards,  Miss  Heathcote  went  to  take 
tea,  sociably,  with  her  friend  Mrs.  Rushbrook,  who  had  been 
32 


880  SOCIABLE   VISITING. 

married  about  eighteen  months,  and  whom  she  had  known 
intimately  for  many  years.  This  time,  she  went  quite  late, 
and  was  glad  to  be  informed  that  Mrs.  Rushbrook  was  at  home. 
She  was  shown  into  the  parlour,  where  she  waited  till  long 
after  the  lamp  was  lighted,  in  momentary  expectation  of  the 
appearance  of  her  friend,  who  had  sent  down  word  that  she 
would  be  with  her  in  a  few  minutes.  Occasionally,  whenever 
the  nursery  door  was  opened,  Harriet  heard  violent  screams 
of  the  baby. 

At  length  Mrs.  Rushbrook  came  down,  apologized  to  Miss 
Heathcote  for  making  her  wait,  and  said  that  poor  little  George 
was  very  unwell,  and  had  been  fretful  and  feverish  all  day ; 
and  that  he  had  just  been  got  to  sleep  with  much  difficulty, 
having  cried  incessantly  for  more  than  an  hour.  Harriet  now 
regretted  having  chosen  this  day  for  her  visit  (the  baby  being 
BO  much  indisposed),  and  she  offered  to  conclude  it  immediately, 
only  requesting  that  the  servant-man  might  see  her  home,  as 
it  had  long  been  quite  dark.  But  Mrs.  Rushbrook  would  not 
listen  to  Harriet's  proposal  of  going  away  so  soon,  and  insisted 
on  her  staying  to  tea  as  she  had  intended ;  saying  that  she  had 
no  doubt  the  baby  would  be  much  better  when  he  awoke.  At 
her  pressing  instances,  Miss  Heathcote  concluded  to  remain. 
In  a  short  time  Mr.  Rushbrook  carne  home,  and  his  wife  de 
tailed  to  him  all  the  particulars  of  the  baby's  illness.  Harriet, 
who  was  accustomed  to  children,  saw  that  in  all  probability 
the  complaint  would  be  attended  with  no  serious  consequences. 
But  young  married  people  are  very  naturally  prone  to  take 
alarm  at  the  slightest  ailment  of  their  first  child :  a  feeling 
which  no  one  should  censure,  however  far  it  may  be  carried, 
as  it  originates  in  the  best  affections  of  the  human  heart. 

Though  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rushbrook  tried  to  entertain  their 
visiter,  and  to  listen  to  her  when  she  talked,  Harriet  could  not 
but  perceive  that  their  minds  were  all  the  time  with  the 
infant  up-stairs ;  and  they  frequently  called  each  other  out 
of  the  room  to  consult  about  him. 

After  tea,  the  baby  awoke  and  renewed  its  screams,  and  Mr. 
Rushbrook  determined  to  go  himself  for  the  doctor,  who  had 
already  been  brought  thither  three  times  that  day.  Finding 
that  it  was  a  physician  who  lived  in  her  immediate  neighbour 
hood,  Harriet  wisely  concluded  to  shorten  her  unlucky  visit  by 
availing  herself  of  Mr.  Rushbrook' s  protection  to  her  own 
door.  Mrs.  Rushbrook  took  leave  of  our  heroine  with  much 
civility,  but  with  very  evident  satisfaction,  and  said  to  her  at 


SOCIABLE   VISITING.  381 

parting,  "  To  tell  you  the  truth,  my  dear  Harriet,  if  I  had  known 
that  you  designed  me  the  pleasure  of  a  visit  this  evening,  I 
would  have  candidly  requested  you  to  defer  it  till  another 
time,  as  poor  little  George  has  been  unwell  since  early  in  the 
morning." 

Harriet's  next  sociable  visit  was  to  the  two  Miss  Brandons, 
who  had  always  appeared  to  her  as  very  charming  girls,  and 
remarkable  for  their  affectionate  manner  towards  each  other. 
Being  left  in  affluent  circumstances  at  the  decease  of  their 
father  (the  mother  died  while  they  were  children),  Letitia  and 
Charlotte  Brandon  lived  together  in  a  very  genteel  establish 
ment,  under  the  protection  of  an  unmarried  brother,  who  was 
just  now  absent  on  business  in  the  West.  Harriet  had  always 
imagined  them  in  possession  of  an  unusual  portion  of  happi 
ness,  for  they  were  young,  handsome,  rich,  at  their  own  dispo 
sal,  with  no  one  to  control  them,  and,  as  she  supposed,  nothing 
to  trouble  them.  She  did  not  know,  or  rather  she  did  not  be 
lieve  (for  she  had  heard  some  whispers  of  the  fact),  that  in 
reality  the  Miss  Brandons  lived  half  their  time  at  open  war ; 
both  having  tempers  that  were  very  irritable,  and  also  very 
implacable,  for  it  is  not  true  that  the  more  easily  anger  is  ex 
cited,  the  sooner  it  subsides.  It  so  happened,  however,  that 
Miss  Heathcote  had  only  seen  these  young  ladies  during  their 
occasional  fits  of  good-humour,  when  they  were  at  peace  with 
each  other,  and  with  all  the  world ;  and  at  such  times  no  women 
could  possibly  be  more  amiable. 

On  the  morning  before  Harriet  Heathcote' s  visit,  a  violent 
quarrel  had  taken  place  between  the  two  sisters,  and  therefore 
they  were  not  on  speaking  terms,  nor  likely  to  be  so  in  less 
than  a  fortnight ;  that  being  the  period  they  generally  required 
to  smooth  down  their  angry  passions,  before  they  could  find  it 
in  their  hearts  to  resume  the  usual  routine  of  even  common 
civility.  There  was  this  difference  in  the  two  ladies :  Charlotte 
was  the  most  passionate,  Letitia  the  most  rancorous. 

When  Harriet  arrived,  she  found  the  Miss  Brandons  alone 
in  the  back  parlour,  sitting  at  opposite  sides  of  the  fire, 
with  each  a  book.  Charlotte,  who  was  just  the  age  of  Har 
riet,  looked  pleased  at  the  sight  of  a  visiter,  whose  company 
she  thought  would  be  preferable  to  the  alternative  of  passing 
the  evening  with  her  sister  in  utter  silence ;  and  she  had  some 
faint  hope  that  the  presence  of  Miss  Heathcote  might  perhaps 
induce  Letitia  to  make  some  little  exertion  to  conceal  her  ill- 
humour.  And  therefore  Charlotte  expressed  great  pleasure 


SOCIABLE   VISITING. 

when  she  found  that  Harriet  had  come  to  spend  the  evening 
with  them.  But  Letitia,  after  a  very  cold  salutation,  imme 
diately  rose  and  left  the  room,  with  an  air  that  showed  plainly 
she  did  not  intend  to  consider  Miss  Hcathcote  as  in  part  her 
visitor,  but  exclusively  as  her  sister  Charlotte's. 

Charlotte  followed  Letitia  with  her  eyes,  and  looked  very 
angry,  but  after  a  few  moments,  she  smothered  her  resentment 
eo  far  as  to  attempt  a  sort  of  apology,  saying,  "  she  believed 
her  sister  had  the  headache."  She  then  commenced  a  con 
versation  with  Harriet,  who  endeavoured  to  keep  it  up  with 
her  usual  vivacity ;  but  was  disconcerted  to  find  that  Charlotte 
was  too  uncomfortable,  and  her  mind  evidently  too  much  ab 
stracted,  either  to  listen  attentively,  or  to  take  the  least  inter 
est  in  anything  she  said. 

In  a  short  time  the  table  was  set,  and  Charlotte  desired  the 
servant  to  go  up-stairs  and  ask  Miss  Letitia  if  she  was  coming 
down  to  tea,  or  if  she  should  send  her  some.  The  man  de 
parted,  and  was  gone  a  long  while.  When  he  returned — "  Is 
Miss  Letitia  coming  down  to  tea  ?"  asked  Charlotte  anxiously; 
"  Miss  Letitia  don't  say,"  replied  the  man.  Charlotte  bit  her 
lip  in  vexation,  and  then  with  something  that  resembled  a 
sigh,  invited  Harriet  to  take  her  seat  at  the  table,  and  began 
to  pour  out.  When  tea  was  about  half  over,  Letitia  made 
her  appearance,  walking  with  great  dignity,  and  looking  very 
cross.  She  sat  down  in  silence,  opposite  to  Harriet.  "  Sister," 
said  Charlotte,  in  a  voice  of  half-suppressed  anger,  "  shall  I 
give  you  black  tea  or  green  ?  you  know  you  sometimes  take 
one  and  sometimes  the  other."  "  I'll  help  myself,"  replied 
Letitia,  in  a  voice  of  chilling  coldness.  And  taking  up  one 
of  the  tea-pots  she  proceeded  to  do  so.  As  soon  as  she  put  the 
cup  to  her  lips,  she  set  it  down  again  with  apparent  disgust, 
saying — "  This  tea  is  not  fit  to  drink."  Charlotte,  making  a 
visible  effort  to  restrain  herself,  placed  the  other  tea-pot  with 
in  her  sister's  reach ;  Letitia  poured  out  a  few  drops  by  way 
of  trial,  tasted  it,  then  pushed  it  away  with  still  greater  dis 
gust  than  before,  and  threw  herself  back  in  her  chair,  casting 
a  look  of  indignation  at  Charlotte,  and  murmuring, — u'Tis 
always  so  when  I  do  not  preside  at  the  tea-table  myself." 

Charlotte  sat  swelling  with  anger,  afraid  to  trust  herself  to 
speak,  while  Harriet,  affecting  not  to  notice  what  was  passing, 
made  an  attempt  to  talk  on  some  indifferent  subject,  and  ad 
dressed  to  Letitia  a  few  words  which  she  did  not  answer,  and 
handed  her  some  waffles  which  she  would  not  take.  Never 


SOCIABLE   VISITING.  Sbd 

had  Harriet  been  present  at  so  uncomfortable  a  repast,  and 
heartily  did  she  wish  herself  at  home,  regretting  much  that 
she  had  happened  to  pay  a  visit  during  this  state  of  hostilities. 

After  the  failure  of  both  sorts  of  tea,  Letitia  sat  in  silent 
indignation  till  the  table  was  cleared,  leaning  back  in  her 
chair,  eating  nothing,  but  crumbling  a  piece  of  bread  to  atoms, 
and  pertinaciously  averting  her  head  both  from  Charlotte  and 
Harriet. 

When  tea  was  over,  Harriet  hoped  that  Letitia  would  retire 
to  her  own  room,  but  on  the  contrary  the  lady  was  perversely 
bent  on  staying  in  the  parlour.  Charlotte  and  Harriet  placed 
themselves  at  the  sofa-table  with  their  sewing,  and  Letitia  de 
sired  the  servant-man  to  bring  her  one  of  the  new  table-cloths 
that  had  been  sent  home  that  morning.  Then  making  him 
light  a  lamp  that  stood  in  the  corner  of  the  mantel-piece,  she 
seated  herself  under  it  on  a  low  chair,  and  commenced  silently 
and  sedulously  the  task  of  ravelling  or  fringing  the  ends  of  the 
table-cloth,  while  Charlotte  looked  at  her  from  time  to  time 
with  ill-suppressed  resentment.  Now  and  then,  Harriet,  in 
the  hope  of  conciliating  Letitia  into  something  like  common 
civility,  addressed  a  few  words  to  her  in  as  pleasant  a  manner 
as  possible,  but  Letitia  replied  only  by  a  cold  monosyllable, 
and  finally  made  no  answer  at  all.  Charlotte  was  too  angry 
at  her  sister  to  be  able  to  sustain  anything  that  could  be  called 
a  conversation  with  Miss  Heathcote,  and  Harriet,  rather  than 
say  nothing,  began  to  describe  a  very  entertaining  new  novel 
that  had  lately  appeared,  relating  with  great  vivacity  some  of 
its  most  amusing  scenes.  But  she  soon  found  that  Charlotte 
was  too  much  out  of  humour  with  her  sister  to  be  able  to  give 
much  attention  to  the  narrative,  and  that  her  replies  and  com 
ments  were  distrait  and  mal-d-propos. 

Letitia  sat  coldly  fringing  the  table-cloth,  and  showing  no 
sort  of  emotion,  except  that  she  threw  the  ravellings  into  the 
fire  with  rather  more  energy  than  was  necessary,  and  occasion 
ally  jogged  the  foot  that  rested  on  a  cushion  before  her;  and 
she  resolutely  refused  to  partake  of  the  refreshments  that  were 
brought  in  after  tea. 

Miss  Heathcote  sat  in  momentary  dread  of  an  explosion,  as 
she  saw  that  the  angry  glances  of  Charlotte  towards  the  lady 
fringing  the  table-cloth,  were  becoming  more  frequent  and 
more  vivid,  that  her  colour  was  heightening,  and  the  tremor 
of  her  voice  increasing.  Our  heroine  was  heartily  glad  of  the 
arrival  of  her  brother  about  nine  o'clock,  an  hour  earlier  than 
32* 


384  SOCIABLE   VISITING. 

she  expected  him.  He  explained,  in  a  few  words,  that  being 
desirous  of  returning  to  the  theatre  to  see  a  favourite  after 
piece,  he  had  thought  it  best  to  come  for  his  sister  as  soon  as 
the  play  was  over,  rather  than  keep  her  waiting  for  him  till 
near  eleven,  before  which  time  it  was  not  probable  that  the 
whole  entertainment  would  be  finished.  Charlotte,  who  was 
evidently  impatient  for  an  outbreak,  saw  Miss  Heathcote  de 
part  with  visible  satisfaction,  and  Letitia  merely  bowed  her 
head  to  the  adieu  of  our  heroine,  who,  vexed  at  herself  for 
having  volunteered  her  visit  on  this  ill-omened  day,  felt  it  a 
relief  to  quit  the  presence  of  these  unamiable  sisters,  and 
"  leave  them  alone  in  their  glory." 

The  black  girl  that  had  brought  down  her  hood  and  cloak, 
ran  forward  to  open  the  street  door,  and  said  in  a  low  voice  to 
Harriet,  "  I  suppose,  miss,  you  did  not  know  before  you  came, 
that  our  ladies  had  a  high  quarrel  this  morning,  and  are  af 
fronted,  and  don't  speak.  But  I  dare  say  they  will  come  to, 
in  the  course  of  a  few  weeks,  and  then  I  hope  you'll  pay  us 
another  visit,  for  company's  scace" 

When  Harriet  equipped  herself  to  pass  a  sociable  evening 
with  the  Urlingford  family,  who  were  among  the  most  agreeable 
of  her  friends,  she  could  not  possibly  anticipate  any  contre- 
tcms  that  would  mar  the  pleasure  of  the  visit.  She  arrived 
about  dusk,  and  was  somewhat  surprised  to  find  the  whole 
family  already  at  their  tea.  Mrs.  Urlingford  and  the  young 
ladies  received  her  very  cordially,  but  looked  a  little  discon 
certed,  and  Harriet  apologized  for  interrupting  them  at  table, 
by  saying,  that  she  thought  their  tea-hour  was  not  till  seven 
o'clock. 

Mrs.  Urlingford  replied,  that  seven  o'clock  icas  their  usual 
hour  for  tea,  but  on  that  evening  they  had  it  much  earlier 
than  usual,  that  it  might  be  over  before  the  arrival  of  some  of 
their  musical  friends,  who  were  coming  to  practise  with  her 
daughters. 

"  Really,  my  dear  Harriet,"  pursued  Mrs.  Urlingford,  "  I  am 
rejoiced  that  you  happened  to  fix  on  this  evening  for  favour 
ing  us  with  an  unceremonious  visit.  Though  I  know  that 
you  always  decline  playing  and  singing  in  company,  and  that 
you  persist  in  saying  you  have  very  little  knowledge  of  music, 
yet  I  think  too  highly  of  your  taste  and  feeling  not  to  be  con 
vinced  of  your  fondness  for  that  delightful  art,  and  I  am  cer 
tain  you  will  be  much  gratified  by  what  you  will  hear  to-night, 
though  this  is  only  a  private  practising;  indeed  a  mere  rehearsal. 


SOCIABLE  VISITING.  885 

Next  week  we  will  have  a  general  music-party,  the  first  of  a  series 
which  we  have  arranged  to  take  place  at  intervals  of  a  fort 
night,  and  to  which  we  intend  ourselves  the  pleasure  of  sending 
invitations  to  you  and  all  our  other  friends.  This,  of  to-night, 
is,  I  repeat,  nothing  more  than  a  rehearsal,  and  we  expect  only 
a  few  professional  musicians,  whose  assistance  we  have  secured 
for  our  regular  musical  soirees.  I  am  very  glad,  indeed,  my 
dear  Harriet,  that  you  chance  to  be  with  us  this  evening. 
As  I  said,  we  have  tea  earlier  than  usual,  that  the  music  may 
begin  the  sooner,  and  at  ten  o'clock  we  will  have  coffee  and 
other  refreshments  handed  round." 

By  this  time,  the  table  was  newly  set,  fresh  tea  was  made, 
and  some  additional  nice  things  were  produced.  Harriet,  who 
was  very  sorry  for  having  caused  any  unnecessary  trouble,  sat 
down  to  her  tea,  which  she  despatched  in  all  possible  haste, 
as  she  knew  that  Mrs.  Urlingford  must  be  impatient  to  have 
the  table  cleared  away,  previous  to  the  arrival  of  the  musicians, 
who  were  now  momentarily  expected.  Just  as  Harriet  was 
finishing,  there  came  in  a  German  that  played  on  the  violon 
cello,  and  was  always  very  early.  On  being  asked  if  he  had 
taken  tea,  he  replied  in  the  affirmative,  but  that  he  would  have 
no  objection  to  a  little  more.  Accordingly  he  sat  down  and 
made  a  long  and  hearty  meal,  to  the  evident  annoyance  of  the 
family,  and  still  more  to  that  of  Harriet  Heathcote,  who  knew 
that  the  table  would  long  since  have  been  removed,  had  it  not 
been  detained  on  her  account.  There  was  nothing  now  to  be 
done,  but  to  close  the  folding-doors,  and  shut  in  the  German 
till  he  had  completed  his  repast,  as  others  of  the  company 
were  fast  arriving.  And  though  Harriet  had  been  told  that 
this  was  merely  a  private  practising,  she  soon  found  herself  in 
the  midst  of  something  that  very  much  resembled  a  large 
party;  so  many  persons  having  been  invited  exclusive  of  the 
regular  performers.  She  understood,  however,  that  nobody 
had  been  asked  to  this  rehearsal,  who  had  not  a  decided  taste 
for  music. 

Our  heroine,  for  her  part,  had  no  extraordinary  talent  for 
that  difficult  and  elegant  accomplishment ;  and,  after  taking 
lessons  for  about  a  year,  it  was  considered  best  that  she  should 
give  it  up,  as  her  voice  was  of  no  great  compass,  and  there 
was  little  probability  of  her  reaching  any  proficiency,  as  an 
instrumental  musician,  that  would  compensate  for  an  undue 
expense  of  time,  money,  and  application.  Therefore,  Harriet 
had  never  advanced  beyond  simple  ballads,  which  she  played 


886  SOCIABLE  VISITING. 

and  sang  agreeably  and  correctly  enough,  but  which  she  only 
attempted  when  her  audience  consisted  exclusively  of  her  own 
family ;  and  none  of  her  brothers  and  sisters  had  as  yet  shown 
any  taste  for  that  sort  of  music  which  is  commonly  called 
scientific. 

The  Urlingfords,  on  the  contrary,  could  all"  sing  and  play ; 
the  girls  on  the  harp,  piano,  and  guitar ;  and  the  boys  on  the 
flute,  and  violin.  They  all  had  voices  of  great  power,  and 
sung  nothing  but  Italian. 

The  evening  was  passed  in  the  performance  of  pieces  that 
exhibited  much  science,  and  much  difficulty  of  execution  : 
such  pieces,  in  short,  as  Dr.  Johnson  wished  were  "  impossi 
ble.  "  Being  totally  at  variance  with  the  simplicity  of  Harriet's 
taste,  she  found  them  very  uninteresting,  and  inconceivably 
fatiguing,  and  after  a  while  she  had  great  difficulty  in  keeping 
herself  awake.  Of  course,  not  a  word  was  uttered  during  the 
performance,  and  the  concertos,  potpourris,  arias,  and  cavati- 
nas  succeeded  each  other  so  rapidly  that  there  was  no  interval 
in  which  to  snatch  a  few  moments  of  conversation.  It  is  true 
the  purport  of  the  meeting  was  music,  and  music  alone. 

Miss  Heathcote  almost  envied  a  young  lady,  who,  having 
learnt  all  her  music  in  Europe,  had  come  home  with  an  enthu 
siasm  for  feats  of  voice  and  finger,  that  on  all  these  occasions 
transported  her  into  the  third  heaven.  She  sat  with  her  neck 
stretched  forward,  and  her  hands  outspread,  her  lips  half  open, 
her  eyes  sometimes  raised  as  in  ecstasy,  and  sometimes  closed 
in  overpowering  bliss.  But  Harriet's  envy  of  such  exquisite 
sensations  was  a  little  checked,  when  she  observed  Miss  Den- 
ham  stealing  a  sly  glance  all  round,  to  see  who  was  looking  at 
her,  and  admiring  her  enthusiasm.  And  then  Harriet  could 
not  help  thinking  how  very  painful  it  must  be  (when  only 
done  for  effect)  to  keep  up  such  an  air  and  attitude  of  admi 
ration  during  a  whole  long  evening. 

Our  heroine  was  also  much  entertained  in  the  early  part  of 
the  performance,  particularly  during  a  grand  concerto,  by  ob 
serving  the  musician  who  officiated  as  leader,  and  was  a 
foreigner  of  great  skill  in  his  profession.  In  him  there  was 
certainly  no  affectation.  To  have  the  piece  performed  in  the 
most  perfect  manner,  was  "  the  settled  purpose  of  his  soul." 
All  the  energies  of  his  mind  and  body  were  absorbed  in 
this  one  object,  and  he  seemed  as  if  the  whole  happiness  of 
his  future  life,  nay,  his  existence  itself,  depended  on  its  suc 
cess.  The  piece  was  proceeding  in  its  full  tide  of  glory,  and 
the  leader  was  waving  his  bow  with  more  pride  and  satisfac- 


SOCIABLE   VISITING.  387 

tion  than  a  monarch  ever  felt  in  wielding  his.  sceptre,  or  a 
triumphant  warrior  in  brandishing  his  sword.  Suddenly  he 
gave  "  a  look  of  horror  and  a  sudden  start,"  and  turning  in 
stantly  round,  his  eyes  glared  fiercely  over  the  whole  circle  of 
performers  in  search  of  the  culprit  who  had  been  guilty  of  a 
false  note  ;  an  error  which  would  scarcely  have  been  noticed 
by  any  of  the  company,  had  it  not  been  made  so  conspicuous 
by  the  shock  it  had  given  to  the  chief  musician.  The  crimi 
nal,  however,  was  only  discovered  by  his  injudiciously  "  hiding 
his  diminished  head."  Better  for  him  to  have  been  "  a  fine, 
gay,  bold-faced  villain/' 

Harriet  could  not  help  remarking  that  though  the  company 
all  applauded  every  song  that  was  sung,  and  every  piece  that 
was  played,  and  that  at  the  conclusion  of  each,  the  words 
"  charming/'  "  exquisite,"  "  divine,"  were  murmured  round 
the  room,  still  almost  every  one  looked  tired,  many  were  evi 
dently  suppressing  their  inclination  to  yawn — some  took 
opportunities  of  looking  privately  at  their  watches ;  and  Mr. 
Urlingford  and  another  old  gentleman  slept  a  duet  together 
in  a  corner.  The  entrance  of  the  coffee,  &c.,  produced  a  won 
derful  revival,  and  restored  animation  to  eyes  that  seemed 
ready  to  close  in  slumber.  The  company  all  started  from  the 
listless  postures  into  which  they  had  unconsciously  thrown 
themselves,  and  every  one  sat  up  straight.  As  soon  as  she 
had  drunk  a  cup  of  the  refreshing  beverage,  Miss  Heathcote 
was  glad  to  avail  herself  of  her  brother's  arrival  and  take  her 
leave;  Mrs.  Urlingford,  congratulating  her  again  on  having 
been  so  fortunate  as  to  drop  in  exactly  on  that  evening,  and 
telling  her  that  she  should  certainly  expect  her  at  all  her 
musical  parties  throughout  the  season. 

And  Harriet  might  perhaps  have  gone  to  the  first  one,  had 
she  not  been  so  unluckily  present  at  the  rehearsal. 

On  the  next  uninvited  visit  of  our  heroine,  she  found  her 
friends,  the  three  Miss  Celbridges,  sitting  in  the  parlour  with 
their  mother,  by  no  other  light  than  that  of  the  fire,  and  all 
looking  extremely  dejected.  On  inquiring  if  they  were  well, 
they  answered  in  the  aflirmative.  Her  next  question  was  to 
ask  when  they  had  heard  from  Baltimore,  in  which  place  some 
of  their  nearest  relations  were  settled.  The  reply  was,  that 
they  had  received  letters  that  morning,  and  that  their  friends 
were  in  good  health.  "  Well,  girls,"  said  Harriet,  gayly, 
"  you  see  I  have  taken  you  at  your  word,  and  have  come  to 
pass  the  evening  with  you  sans  ceremonie," 


388  SOCIABLE   VISITING. 

The  Miss  Celbridges  exchanged  looks  with  their  mother, 
who  cast  down  her  eyes  and  said  nothing;  and  one  of  the 
young  ladies  silently  assisted  Harriet  in  taking  off  her  walking 
habiliments.  There  was  an  air  of  general  constraint,  and  our 
heroine  began  to  fear  that  her  visit  was  not  quite  acceptable. 
"Is  it  possible,"  thought  she,  "that  I  could  unconsciously 
have  given  any  offence  at  our  last  meeting '("  But  she  re 
collected  immediately,  that  the  Miss  Celbridges  had  then 
taken  leave  of  her  with  the  most  unequivocal  evidences  of 
cordiality,  and  had  earnestly  insisted  on  her  coining  to  drink 
tea  with  them,  as  often  as  she  felt  a  desire,  assuring  her  that 
they  should  always  be  delighted  to  see  her  "  in  a  sociable 
way." 

The  young  ladies  made  an  effort  at  conversation,  but  it  was 
visibly  an  effort.  The  minds  of  the  Miss  Celbridges  were  all 
palpably  engrossed  with  something  quite  foreign  to  the  topic 
of  discussion,  and  Harriet  was  too  much  surprised,  and  too 
much  embarrassed  to  talk  with  her  usual  fluency. 

At  length  Mr.  Celbridge  entered  the  room,  and  after  slightly 
saluting  Miss  Heath  cote,  asked  why  the  lamp  was  not  lighted. 
It  was  done — and  Harriet  then  perceived  by  the  redness  of 
their  eyes,  that  the  mother  and  daughters  had  all  been  in  tears. 
Mr.  Celbridge  looked  also  very  melancholy,  and  seating  him 
self  beside  his  wife,  he  entered  into  a  low  and  earnest  con 
versation  with  her.  Mrs.  Celbridge  held  her  handkerchief  to 
her  face,  and  Harriet  could  no  longer  refrain  from  inquiring 
if  the  family  had  been  visited  by  any  unexpected  misfortune. 
There  was  a  pause,  during  which  the  daughters  evidently 
struggled  to  command  their  feelings,  and  Mr.  Celbridge,  after 
a  few  moments'  hesitation,  replied  in  a  tremulous  voice : 
"  Perhaps,  Miss  Heathcote,  you  know  not  that  to-day  I  have 
become  a  bankrupt ;  that  the  unexpected  failure  of  a  house 
for  which  I  had  endorsed  to  a  large  amount,  has  deprived  me 
of  the  earnings  of  twenty  years,  and  reduced  me  to  indigence." 

Harriet  was  much  shocked,  and  expressed  her  entire  igno 
rance  of  the  fact.  "We  supposed,"  said  Mrs.  Celbridge, 
"  that  it  must  have  been  known  universally — and  such  reports 
always  spread  with  too  much  rapidity."  "Surely,"  replied 
Harriet,  taking  the  hand  of  Mrs.  Celbridge,  "  you  cannot  seri 
ously  believe  that  it  was  known  to  me.  The  slightest  intima 
tion  of  this  unfortunate  event,  would  certainly  have  deterred 
me  from  interrupting  you  with  nay  presence  at  a  time  when 


SOCIABLE  VISITING.  389 

the  company  of  a  visiter  must  be  so  painfully  irksome  to  the 
whole  family." 

She  then  rose,  and  said  that  if  Mr.  Celbridge  would  have 
the  kindness  to  accompany  her  to  her  own  door,  she  would 
immediately  go  home.  "  I  will  not  dissemble,  my  dear  Miss 
Heathcote,"  replied  Mrs.  Celbridge,  "  and  urge  you  to  remain, 
when  it  must  be  evident  to  you  that  none  of  us  are  in  a  state 
to  make  your  visit  agreeable  to  you,  or  indeed  to  derive  plea 
sure  from  it  ourselves.  After  the  first  shock  is  over,  we  shall 
be  able,  I  hope,  to  look  on  our  reverse  of  fortune  with  some 
thing  like  composure.  And  when  we  are  settled  in  the  humble 
habitation  to  which  we  must  soon  remove,  we  shall  be  glad 
indeed  to  have  our  evenings  occasionally  enlivened  by  the 
society  of  one  whom  we  have  always  been  so  happy  to  class 
among  our  friends." 

Mr.  Celbridge  escorted  Harriet  to  her  own  residence,  which 
was  only  at  a  short  distance.  She  there  found  that  her  brother, 
having  just  heard  of  the  failure,  and  knowing  that  she  intended 
spending  the  evening  at  Mr.  Celbridge's,  had  sent  her  from 
his  office  a  note  to  prevent  her  going,  but  it  had  not  arrived 
till  after  her  departure. 

Among  Miss  Heathcote's  acquaintances  was  Mrs.  Accleton, 
a  very  young  lady  recently  married,  who  on  receiving  her 
bridal-visits,  had  given  out  that  she  intended  to  live  economi 
cally,  and  not  to  indulge  in  any  unnecessary  expense.  She 
emphatically  proclaimed  her  resolution  never  to  give  a  party ; 
but  she  did  not  even  insinuate  that  she  would  never  go  to  a 
party  herself.  She  also  declared  that  it  did  not  comport  with 
her  plans  (young  girls  when  just  married  are  apt  to  talk  much 
of  their  plans)  to  have  any  regularly  invited  company ;  but 
that  it  would  always  afford  her  the  greatest  possible  pleasure 
to  see  her  friends  sociably,  if  they  would  come  and  take  tea 
with  her,  whenever  it  was  convenient  to  themselves,  and  with 
out  waiting  for  her  to  appoint  any  particular  time.  "  My  hus 
band  and  I,"  said  Mrs.  Accleton,  "  intend  spending  all  our  eve 
nings  at  home,  so  there  is  no  risk  of  ever  finding  us  out.  We 
are  too  happy  in  each  other  to  seek  for  amusement  abroad ; 
and  we  find  by  experience  that  nothing  the  world  can  offer  is 
equal  to  our  own  domestic  felicity,  varied  occasionally  by  the 
delightful  surprise  of  an  unceremonious  visit  from  an  intimate 
friend." 

It  was  not  till  after  the  most  urgent  entreaties,  often  reite 
rated,  that  Harriet  Heathcote  undertook  one  of  these  visits  to 


390  SOCIABLE   VISITING. 

Mrs.  Accleton.  After  ringing  at  the  street-door  till  hei 
patience  was  nearly  exhausted,  it  was  opened  by  a  sulky-look 
ing  white  girl,  who  performed  the  office  of  porteress  with  a 
very  ill  grace,  hiding  herself  behind  it  because  she  was  not  in 
full  dress ;  and  to  Harriet's  inquiry  if  Mrs.  Accleton  was  at 
home,  murmuring  in  a  most  repulsive  tone  that  "  she  believed 
she  was." 

Our  heroine  was  kept  waiting  a  considerable  time  in  a  cold 
and  comfortless,  though  richly-furnished  parlour,  where  the 
splendid  coal-grate  exhibited  no  evidences  of  fire,  but  a  mass 
of  cinders  blackening  at  the  bottom.  At  length  Mrs.  Accle 
ton  made  her  appearance,  fresh  from  the  toilet,  and  apologized 
by  saying,  that  expecting  no  one  that  afternoon,  she  had  ever 
since  dinner  been  sitting  up  stairs  in  her  wrapper.  "  About 
twelve  o'clock,"  said  she,  "  I  always,  when  the  weather  is  fine, 
dress  myself  and  have  the  front-parlour  fire  made  up,  in  case 
of  morning-visiters.  But  after  dinner,  I  usually  put  on  a 
wrapper,  and  establish  myself  in  the  dining-room  for  the 
remainder  of  the  day.  My  husband  and  I  have  got  into  the 
habit  of  spending  all  our  evenings  there.  It  is  a  charmingly 
comfortable  little  room,  and  we  think  it  scarcely  worth  while 
to  keep  up  the  parlour-fire  just  for  our  two  selves.  However, 
I  will  have  it  replenished  immediately.  Excuse  me  for  one 
moment."  She  then  left  the  room,  and  shortly  returning, 
resumed  her  discourse. 

"  I  determined,"  said  she,  "  from  the  hour  I  first  thought 
of  housekeeping,  that  it  should  be  my  plan  to  have  none  but 
white  servants.  They  are  less  wasteful  than  the  blacks ;  less 
extravagant  in  their  cooking ;  are  satisfied  to  sit  by  smaller 
fires ;  and  have  fewer  visiters.  The  chief  difficulty  with  them 
is,  that  there  are  so  many  things  they  are  unwilling  to  do. 
Yesterday  my  cook  left  me  quite  suddenly,  and  to-day  a  little 
girl  about  fourteen,  whom  I  hired  last  week  as  a  waiter,  was 
taken  away  by  her  mother  j  and  I  have  just  now  been  trying 
to  persuade  Sally,  the  chambermaid,  to  bring  in  the  coal 
scuttle  and  make  up  the  fire.  But  she  has  a  great  objection 
to  doing  anything  in  presence  of  strangers,  and  I  am  rather 
afraid  she  will  not  come.  And  I  do  not  much  wonder  at  it, 
for  Sally  is  a  girl  of  a  very  respectable  family.  She  has  no 
thing  of  the  servant  about  her." 

"  So  much  the  worse,"  thought  Harriet,  "  if  she  is  obliged 
to  get  her  living  in  that  capacity." 

After  a  long  uncomfortable  pause,  during  which  there  were 


SOCIABLE    VISITING.  391 

no  signs  of  Sally,  Mrs.  Accleton  involuntarily  put  her  hand 
to  the  bell,  but  recollecting  herself,  withdrew  it  again  without 
pressing  the  spring.  "  There  would  be  no  use,"  said  she,  "  in 
ringing  the  bell,  for  Sally  never  takes  the  least  notice  of  it. 
She  is  principled  against  it,  and  says  she  will  not  be  rung 
about  the  house  like  a  negro.  I  have  to  indulge  her  in  this 
laudable  feeling  of  self-respect,  for  in  everything  that  is  essen 
tial  she  is  a  most  valuable  girl,  and  irons  my  dresses  beauti 
fully,  and  does  up  my  collars  and  pelerines  to  admiration. " 

So  saying,  Mrs.  Accleton  again  left  the  parlour  to  have 
another  expostulation  with  Sally,  who  finally  vouchsafed  to 
bring  in  the  coal-scuttle,  and  flinging  a  few  fresh  coals  on  the 
top  of  the  dying  embers  (from  which  all  power  of  ignition  had 
too  visibly  fled),  put  up  the  blower,  and  hurried  out  of  the 
room.  But  the  blower  awakened  no  flame,  and  not  a  sound 
was  heard  to  issue  from  behind  its  blank  and  dreary  expanse. 
"  I  am  afraid  the  fire  is  too  far  gone  to  be  revived  without  a 
regular  clearing  out  of  the  grate,"  said  Mrs.  Accleton,  "  and 
I  doubt  the  possibility  of  prevailing  on  Sally  to  go  through 
all  that.  Anthracite  has  certainly  its  disadvantages.  Perhaps 
we  had  better  adjourn  to  the  dining-room,  where  there  has 
been  a  good  fire  the  whole  day.  If  I  had  only  known  that 
you  intended  me  the  pleasure  of  this  visit !  However,  I  have 
no  doubt  you  will  find  it  very  comfortable  up  stairs." 

To  the  dining-room  they  accordingly  went.  It  was  a  little 
narrow  apartment  over  the  kitchen,  with  a  low  ceiling  and 
small  windows  looking  out  on  the  dead  wall  of  the  next  house, 
and  furnished  in  the  plainest  and  most  economical  manner. 
There  was  a  little  soap-stone  grate  that  held  about  three  quarts 
of  coal,  which,  however,  was  burning ;  a  small  round  table 
that  answered  for  every  purpose ;  half  a  dozen  wooden-bot 
tomed  cane-coloured  chairs ;  and  a  small  settee  to  match, 
covered  with  a  calico  cushion,  and  calculated  to  hold  but  two 
people.  "  This  is  just  the  size  for  my  husband  and  myself," 
said  Mrs.  Accleton,  as  she  placed  herself  on  the  settee.  "  We 
had  it  made  on  purpose.  Will  you  take  a  seat  on  it,  Miss 
Harriet,  or  would  you  prefer  a  chair  ?  I  expect  Mr.  Accleton 
home  in  a  few  minutes."  Harriet  preferred  a  chair. 

The  conversation  now  turned  on  housekeeping,  and  the 
nouvelle  mariee  gave  a  circumstantial  detail  of  her  various 
plans,  and  expressed  some  surprise  that,  notwithstanding  the 
excellence  of  her  system,  she  found  so  much  difficulty  in  get 
ting  servants  to  fall  into  it.  "  I  have  the  most  trouble  with 
33 


392  SOCIABLE   VISITING. 

my  cooks,"  pursued  Mrs.  Accleton.  "  I  have  had  six  different 
women  in  that  capacity,  though  I  have  only  been  married  two 
months.  And  I  am  sure  Mr.  Accleton  and  myself  are  by  no 
means  hard  to  please.  We  live  in  the  plainest  way  possible, 
and  a  very  little  is  sufficient  for  our  table.  Our  meat  is  sim 
ply  boiled  or  roasted,  and  often  we  have  nothing  more  than  a 
beefsteak.  We  never  have  any  sort  of  dessert,  considering  all 
such  things  as  extremely  unwholesome."  "  What  is  the  rea 
son,"  thought  Harriet,  "that  so  many  young  ladies,  when 
they  are  first  married,  discover  immediately  that  desserts  are 
unwholesome ;  particularly  if  prepared  and  eaten  in  their  own 
houses  ?" 

Mrs.  Accleton  made  frequent  trips  back  and  forward  to  the 
kitchen,  and  Harriet  understood  that  tea  was  in  agitation. 
Finally,  Sally,  looking  very  much  out  of  humour,  came  and 
asked  for  the  keys ;  and  unlocking  a  dwarf  sideboard  that 
stood  in  one  of  the  recesses,  she  got  out  the  common  tea- 
equipage  and  placed  it  on  the  table.  "  You  see,  Miss  Harriet, 
we  treat  you  quite  en  famille,"  said  Mrs.  Accleton.  "  We 
make  no  stranger  of  you.  After  tea,  the  parlour  will  doubt 
less  be  warm,  and  we  will  go  down  thither."  Harriet  won 
dered  if  the  anthracite  was  expected  to  repent  of  its  obstinacy, 
and  take  to  burning  of  its  own  accord. 

Mr.  Accleton  now  came  home,  and  his  wife,  after  running 
to  kiss  him,  exclaimed  :  "  Oh  !  my  dear,  I  am  glad  you  are 
come !  You  can  now  entertain  Miss  Heathcote  while  I  go 
down  and  pay  some  attention  to  the  tea,  for  Sally  protests  that 
she  was  not  hired  to  cook,  and,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  she 
is  very  busy  ironing,  and  does  not  like  to  be  taken  off.  This 
is  our  regular  ironing-day,  and  one  of  my  rules  is  never,  on 
any  consideration,  to  have  it  put  off  or  passed  over.  Method 
is  the  soul  of  housekeeping." 

Mr.  Accleton  was  naturally  taciturn,  but  he  made  a  pro 
digious  effort  to  entertain  Harriet,  and  talked  to  her  of  the  tariff. 

It  was  near  eight  o'clock  before  Sally  condescended  to  bring 
up  the  tea  and  its  accompaniments,  which  were  a  plate  con 
taining  four  slices  of  the  thinnest  possible  bread  and  butter, 
another  with  two  slices  of  pale  toast,  and  a  third  with  two 
shapeless  whitish  cakes,  of  what  composition  it  was  difficult  to 
tell,  but  similar  to  those  that  are  called  flap-jacks  in  Boston, 
slap-jacks  in  New  York,  and  buckwheat  cakes  in  Philadelphia.* 

*  Query  ?  Which  epithet  is  the  most  elegant,  flap  or  slap  ?  We 
rather  think  "  the  flnps  have  it." 


SOCIABLE   VISITING.  393 

In  the  centre  was  a  deep  dish  with  a  dozen  small  stewed  oys 
ters  floating  in  an  ocean  of  liquor,  as  tasteless  and  insipid  as 
dish-water.  The  tea  also  was  tasteless,  and  for  two  reasons — 
first,  that  the  Chinese  herb  had  been  apportioned  in  a  very 
small  quantity ;  and  secondly,  that  the  kettle  had  not  "  come 
to  a  boil." 

"  We  give  you  tea  in  a  very  plain  style,"  said  Mrs.  Accle- 
ton  to  Harriet;  "you  see  we  make  no  stranger  of  you,  and 
that  we  treat  you  just  as  we  do  ourselves.  We  know  that 
simple  food  is  always  the  most  wholesome,  and  when  our 
friends  are  so  kind  as  to  visit  us,  we  have  no  desire  to  make 
them  sick  by  covering  our  table  with  dainties.  It  is  one  of 
my  rules  never  to  have  a  sweeteake  or  sweetmeat  in  the  house. 
They  are  not  only  a  foolish  expense,  but  decidedly  prejudicial 
to  health." 

The  hot  cakes  being  soon  despatched,  there  was  considerable 
waiting  for  another  supply.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Accleton  were  at 
somewhat  of  a  nonplus  as  to  the  most  feasible  means  of  pro 
curing  the  attendance  of  Sally.  a  Perhaps  she  will  come  if 
we  knock  on  the  floor,"  said  Mrs.  Accleton ;  "  she  has  done 
so  sometimes."  Mr.  Accleton  stamped  on  the  floor,  but  Sally 
came  not.  Harriet  could  not  imagine  why  Sally's  pride 
should  be  less  hurt  by  coming  to  a  knock  on  the  floor  than  to 
a  ring  of  the  bell ;  but  there  is  no  accounting  for  tastes.  Mr. 
Accleton  stamped  again,  and  much  more  loudly  than  before. 
"  Now  you  have  spoiled  all,"  said  his  wife,  fretfully ;  "  Sally 
will  never  come  now.  She  will  be  justly  offended  at  your 
stamping  for  her  in  that  violent  way.  I  much  question  if  we 
see  her  face  again  to-night." 

At  last,  after  much  canvassing,  it  was  decided  that  Mr.  Ac 
cleton  should  go  to  the  head  of  the  stairs  and  venture  to  call 
Sally;  his  wife  enjoining  him  not  to  call  too  loudly,  and  to  let 
his  tone  and  manner  be  as  mild  as  possible.  This  delicate 
business  was  successfully  accomplished.  Sally  at  last  appeared 
with  two  more  hot  cakes,  and  Mrs.  Accleton  respectfully  inti 
mated  to  her  that  she  wished  her  to  return  in  a  few  minutes 
to  clear  away  the  table. 

Mr.  Accleton,  who  was  a  meek  man,  being  sent  down  by 
his  wife  to  reconnoitre  the  parlour  fire,  came  back  and  reported 
that  it  was  "  dead  out."  "  How  very  unlucky,"  said  Mrs. 
Accleton,  "  that  Miss  Heathcote  should  happen  to  come  just 
on  this  evening  !  Unlucky  for  herself,  I  mean,  for  we  must 
always  be  delighted  to  see  her.  However,  I  am  so  fond  of 


394  SOCIABLE   VISITING. 

this  snug  little  room,  that  for  my  own  part  I  have  no  desire 
ever  to  sit  in  any  other.  My  husband  and  I  have  passed  so 
many  pleasant  hours  in  it.'7 

The  ladies  now  resumed  their  sewing ;  Mrs.  Accleton  talked 
of  her  plans,  and  her  economy,  and  Sally ;  and  Mr.  Accleton 
pored  over  the  newspaper  as  if  he  was  learning  it  all  by  heart, 
even  to  the  advertisements }  while  his  wife,  who  had  taken  oc 
casion  to  remark  that  the  price  of  oil  had  risen  considerably, 
managed  two  or  three  times  to  give  the  screw  of  the  astral 
lamp  a  twist  to  the  left,  which  so  much  diminished  the  light 
that  Harriet  could  scarcely  see  to  thread  her  needle. 

About  an  hour  after  tea,  Mrs.  Accleton  called  her  husband 
to  the  other  end  of  the  room,  and  a  half-whispered  consultation 
took  place  between  them,  which  ended  in  the  disappearance 
of  the  gentleman.  In  a  short  time  he  returned,  and  there  was 
another  consultation,  in  the  course  of  which  Harriet  could  not 
avoid  distinguishing  the  words — "  Sally  refuses  to  quit  her 
clear-starching.''  "  Well,  dear,  cannot  I  ask  you  just  to  do 
them  yourself?"  "Oh,  no!  indeed,  it  is  quite  out  of  the 
question ;  I  would  willingly  oblige  you  in  anything  else." 
"  But,  dear,  only  think  how  often  you  have  done  this  very 
thing  when  a  boy."  "  But  I  am  not  a  boy  now."  "  Oh,  but 
dear,  you  really  must.  There  is  no  one  else  to  do  it.  Come 
now,  only  a  few,  just  a  very  few."  There  was  a  little  more 
persuasion;  the  lady  seemed  to  prevail,  and  the  gentleman 
quitted  the  room.  A  short  time  after,  there  was  heard  a 
sound  of  cracking  nuts,  which  Mrs.  Accleton,  consciously  co 
louring,  endeavoured  to  drown  by  talking  as  fast  and  as  loudly 
as  possible. 

We  have  said  that  Mr.  Accleton  was  a  meek  man.  Having 
finished  his  business  down-stairs,  he  came  back  looking  red 
and  foolish ;  and  after  awhile  Sally  appeared  with  great  dis 
pleasure  in  her  countenance,  and  in  her  hands  a  waiter  con 
taining  a  plate  of  shellbarks,  a  pitcher  of  water,  and  some 
glasses.  Mr.  Accleton  belonged  to  the  temperance  society, 
and  therefore,  as  his  wife  said,  was  principled  against  having 
in  his  house,  either  wine,  or  any  other  sort  of  liquor. 

The  arrival  of  Albert  Heathcote  put  an  end  to  this  comfort 
less  visit ;  and  Mrs.  Accleton  on  taking  leave  of  Harriet,  re 
peated,  for  the  twentieth  time,  her  regret  at  not  having  had 
any  previous  intimation  of  it. 

Our  heroine  could  not  but  wonder  why  marriage  should  so 
soon  have  have  made  a  change  for  the  worse,  in  the  lady  with 


SOCIABLE  VISITING.  395 

she  had  been  passing  the  evening,  and  whom  she  had 
known  when  Miss  Maiden,  as  a  lively,  pleasant,  agreeable  girl, 
not  remarkable  for  much  mind,  but  in  every  other  respect  the 
reverse  of  what  she  was  now.  Harriet  had  yet  to  learn  that 
marriage,  particularly  when  it  takes  place  at  a  very  early  age, 
and  before  the  judgment  of  the  lady  has  had  time  to  ripen  by 
intercourse  with  the  world,  frequently  produces  a  sad  alter 
ation  in  her  habits  and  ideas.  As  soon  as  she  is  emancipated 
from  the  control  of  her  parents,  and  when  "  her  market  is 
made,"  and  a  partner  secured  for  life,  all  her  latent  faults  and 
foibles  are  too  prone  to  show  themselves  without  disguise,  and 
she  is  likewise  in  much  danger  of  acquiring  new  ones.  Pre 
suming  upon  her  importance  as  a  married  lady,  and  also  upon 
the  indulgence  with  which  husbands  generally  regard  all  the 
sayings  and  doings  of  their  wives  in  the  early  days  of  matri 
mony,  woman,  as  well  as  man,  is  indeed  too  apt  to  li  play 
fantastic  tricks  when  dressed  in  a  little  brief  authority." 

Next  day,  Harriet  was  surprised  by  a  morning  visit  from 
Mrs.  Accleton,  who  came  in  looking  much  discomposed,  and, 
after  the  first  salutations,  said  in  a  tone  of  some  bitterness,  "  I 
have  met  with  a  great  misfortune,  Miss  Heathcote,  I  have 
lost  that  most  valuable  servant,  Sally.  The  poor  girl's  pride 
was  so  deeply  wounded  at  being  obliged  to  bring  in  the  waiter 
before  company  (and  as  her  family  is  so  respectable,  she  of 
course  has  a  certain  degree  of  proper  pride),  that  she  gave  me 
notice  this  morning  of  the  utter  impossibility  of  her  remain 
ing  in  the  house  another  day.  I  tried  in  vain  to  pacify  her, 
and  I  assured  her  that  your  coming  to  tea  was  entirely  acci 
dental,  and  that  such  a  thing  might  never  happen  again.  All 
I  could  urge  had  no  effect  on  her,  and  she  persisted  in  saying 
that  she  never  could  stay  in  any  place  after  her  feelings  had 
been  hurt,  and  that  she  had  concluded  to  live  at  home  for  the 
future,  and  take  in  sewing.  So  she  quitted  me  at  once,  leav 
ing  me  without  a  creature  in  the  house,  and  I  have  been 
obliged  to  borrow  mamma's  Kitty  for  the  present.  And  I 
have  nearly  fatigued  myself  to  death  by  walking  almost  to 
Schuylkill  to  inquire  the  character  of  a  cook  that  I  heard  of 
yesterday.  As  to  a  chambermaid,  I  never  expect  to  find  one 
that  will  replace  poor  Sally.  She  was  so  perfectly  clean,  and 
she  clear-starched,  and  plaited,  and  ironed  so  beautifully ;  and 
when  I  went  to  a  party,  she  could  arrange  my  hair  as  well  as 
a  French  barber,  which  was  certainly  a  great  saving  to  me. 
Undoubtedly,  Miss  Heathcote,  your  company  is  always  pleas- 

33  * 


SOCIABLE   VISITING. 

ant,  and  we  certainly  spent  a  delightful  evening,  but  if  I  had 
had  the  least  intimation  that  you  intended  me  the  honour  of  a 
visit  yesterday,  I  should  have  taken  the  liberty  of  requesting 
you  to  defer  it  till  I  had  provided  myself  with  a  cook  and  a 
waiter.  Poor  Sally — and  to  think,  too,  that  she  had  been 
ironing  all  day !" 

Harriet  was  much  vexed,  and  attempted  an  apology  for  her 
ill-timed  visit.  She  finally  succeeded  in  somewhat  mollifying 
the  lady  by  presenting  her  with  some  cake  and  wine  as  a  re 
freshment  after  her  fatigue,  and  Mrs.  Accleton  departed  in 
rather  a  better  humour,  but  still  the  burthen  of  her  song  was, 
"of  course,  Miss  Heathcote,  your  visits  must  be  always  wel 
come — but  it  is  certainly  a  sad  thing  to  lose  poor  Sally. " 

Our  heroine's  next  attempt  at  a  sociable  visit  was  to  her 
friend  Amanda  Milbourne,  the  eldest  daughter  of  a  large 
family.  As  soon  as  Harriet  made  her  entrance,  the  children, 
with  all  of  whom  she  was  a  great  favourite,  gathered  round, 
and  informed  her  with  delighted  faces,  that  their  father  and 
mother  were  going  to  take  them  to  the  play.  Harriet  feared 
that  again  her  visit  had  been  ill-timed,  and  offered  to  return 
home.  "  On  the  contrary,"  said  Mrs.  Milbourne,  "  nothing 
can  be  more  fortunate,  at  least  for  Amanda,  who  has  declined 
accompanying  us  to  the  theatre,  as  her  eyes  are  again  out  of 
order,  and  she  is  afraid  of  the  lights.  Therefore  she  will  be 
extremely  happy  to  have  you  spend  the  evening  with  her." 
"It  is  asking  too  much  of  Harriet's  kindness,"  said  Amanda, 
"  to  expect  her  to  pass  a  dull  evening  alone  with  me ;  I  fear 
I  shall  not  be  able  to  entertain  her  as  I  would  wish.  The 
place  that  was  taken  for  me  at  the  theatre  will  be  vacant,  and 
I  am  sure  it  would  give  you  all  great  pleasure  if  Harriet  would 
accept  of  it,  and  accompany  you  thither."  This  invitation 
was  eagerly  urged  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Milbourne,  and  loudly  re 
iterated  by  all  the  children,  but  Harriet  had  been  at  the 
theatre  the  preceding  evening,  the  performances  of  to-night 
were  exactly  the  same,  and  she  was  one  of  those  that  think 
"  nothing  so  tedious  as  a  twice-seen  play,"  that  is;  if  all  the 
parts  are  filled  precisely  as  before. 

Mrs.  Milbourne  then  again  felicitated  Amanda  on  being  so 
fortunate  as  to  have  Miss  Heathcote  to  pass  the  evening  with 
her.  "To  say  the  truth,"  said  the  good  mother,  "I  could 
scarcely  reconcile  myself  to  the  idea  of  your  staying  at  home, 
particularly  as  your  eyes  will  not  allow  you  to  read  or  to  sew 
this  evening,  and  you  could  have  no  resource  but  the  piano." 


SOCIABLE  VISITING.  89? 

Then  turning  to  Harriet,  she  continued,  "  When  her  eyes  are 
well,  it  may  be  truly  remarked  of  Amanda,  that  she  is  one  of 
those  fortunate  persons  '  who  are  never  less  alone  than  when 
alone;'  she  often  says  so  herself." 

Accordingly  Harriet  was  prevailed  on  to  go  through  with 
her  visit.  And  as  soon  as  tea  was  over,  all  the  Milbourne 
family  (with  the  exception  of  Amanda)  departed  for  the  theatre. 

Harriet  produced  her  bead  work,  and  endeavoured  to  be  as 
amusing  as  possible,  but  her  friend  seemed  silent,  abstracted, 
and  not  in  the  vein  for  conversation,  complaining  at  times  of 
the  pain  in  her  eyes,  which,  however,  looked  as  well  as  usual. 
Just  after  the  departure  of  the  family,  Amanda  stole  softly  to 
the  front-door  and  put  up  the  dead-latch,  so  that  it  could  be 
opened  from  without.  After  that,  she  resumed  her  seat  in 
the  parlour,  and  appeared  to  be  anxiously  listening  for  some 
thing.  The  sound  of  footsteps  was  soon  heard  at  the  door, 
and  presently  a  handsome  young  gentleman  walked  in  without 
having  rung  the  bell,  and  as  he  entered  the  parlour,  stopped 
short,  and  looked  disconcerted  at  finding  a  stranger  there. 
Amanda  blushed  deeply,  but  rose  and  introduced  him  as  Cap 
tain  Sedbury  of  the  army.  Harriet  then  recollected  having 
heard  a  vague  report  of  an  officer  being  very  much  in  love 
with  Miss  Milbourne,  and  that  her  parents  discountenanced 
his  addresses,  unwilling  that  the  most  beautiful  and  most  ac 
complished  of  their  daughters  should  marry  a  man  who  had 
no  fortune  but  his  commission. 

^The  fact  was,  that  Captain  Sedbury,  after  an  absence  of 
several  months  at  his  station,  had  only  arrived  in  town  that 
morning,  and  finding  means  to  notify  his  mistress  of  his  re 
turn,  it  had  been  arranged  between  them  that  he  should  visit 
her  in  the  evening,  during  the  absence  of  the  family,  and  for 
this  purpose  Amanda  had  excused  herself  from  going  to  the 
theatre.  He  took  his  seat  beside  Amanda,  who  contrived  to 
give  him  her  hand  behind  the  backs  of  their  chairs,  and  at 
tempted  some  general  conversation,  catching,  at  times,  an  op 
portunity  of  saying  in  a  low  voice  a  few  words  to  the  lady  of 
his  love,  whose  inclination  was  evidently  to  talk  to  him  only. 

Harriet  Heathcote  now  found  herself  in  a  very  awkward 
situation.  On  this  occasion  she  was  palpably  what  the  French 
call  Madame  de  Trop,  a  character  which  is  irksome  beyond  all 
endurance  to  the  lady  herself,  if  she  is  a  person  of  proper  con 
sideration  for  the  convenience  of  others.  Though  conscious 
that  they  were  wishing  her  at  least  in  Alabama,  she  felt  much 


398  SOCIABLE  VISITING. 

sympathy  for  the  lovers,  as  she  had  a  favoured  inamorato  of 
her  own,  who  was  now  on  his  return  from  Canton,  She  talked, 
and  their  replies  were  tardy  and  distrait ;  she  looked  at  them, 
and  they  were  gazing  at  each  other,  and  several  times  she  found 
them  earnestly  engaged  in  a  whisper.  She  felt  as  if  on  thorns, 
and  became  so  nervous  that  she  actually  got  the  headache. 
The  dullness  of  Mrs.  Drakelow,  the  sick  baby  of  Mrs.  Rush- 
brook,  the  feuds  of  the  Miss  Brandons,  the  failure  of  Mr.  Cel- 
bridge,  the  music-practising  of  the  Urlingfords,  the  maid  Sally 
of  the  Accletons,  had  none  of  them  at  the  time  caused  our 
heroine  so  much  annoyance  as  she  felt  on  this  evening,  from 
the  idea  that  she  was  so  inconveniently  interrupting  the  stolen 
interview  of  two  affianced  lovers.  At  last  she  became  too  nerv 
ous  to  endure  it  any  longer,  and  putting  away  her  bead  work, 
she  expressed  a  desire  to  go  home,  pleading  her  headache  as 
an  excuse.  Captain  Sedbury  started  up  with  alacrity,  and 
offered  immediately  to  attend  her.  But  Amanda,  whose  eyes 
had  at  first  sparkled  with  delight,  suddenly  changed  counte 
nance,  and  begged  Harriet  to  stay,  saying,  "  You  expect  your 
brother,  do  you  not  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Harriet,  "but  as  the  distance  is  short, 
I  hope  it  will  be  no  great  encroachment  on  Captain  Sedbury' s 
time.  And  then/'  she  added  with  a  smile,  "  he  will  of  course 
return  hither  and  finish  his  visit,  after  he  has  deposited  me  at 
my  own  door/' 

Amanda  still  hesitated.  She  recollected  an  instance  of  a 
friend  of  hers  having  lost  her  lover  in  consequence  of  his  es 
corting  home  a  pretty  girl  that  made  a  "  deadset"  at  him. 
And  she  was  afraid  to  trust  Captain  Sedbury  with  so  hand 
some  a  young  lady  as  Miss  Heathcote.  Fortunately,  however, 
Harriet  removed  this  perplexity  as  soon  as  she  guessed  the 
cause.  "  Suppose,"  said  she  to  Amanda,  "  that  you  were  to 
accompany  us  yourself.  It  is  a  fine  moonlight  night,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  the  walk  will  do  you  good,  as  you  say  you  have 
not  been  out  for  several  days." 

To  this  proposal  Amanda  joyfully  assented,  and  in  a  moment 
her  face  was  radiant  with  smiles.  She  ran  up  stairs  for  her 
walking  equipments,  and  was  down  so  quickly  that  Harriet 
had  not  much  chance  of  throwing  out  any  allurements  in  her 
absence,  even  if  she  had  been  so  disposed.  The  captain  gave 
an  arm  to  each  of  the  ladies,  and  in  a  short  time  the  lovers 
bade  Miss  Heathcote  good  night  at  the  door  of  her  father's 
mansion. 


SOCIABLE   VISITING.  399 

Harriet  now  comprehended  why  her  friend  Amanda  "  was 
never  less  alone  than  when  alone." 

Three  weeks  afterwards,  when  Miss  Milbourne  and  Captain 
Sedbury  had  effected  a  runaway  marriage,  and  the  parents  had 
forgiven  them  according  to  custom,  Amanda  and  her  husband 
made  themselves  and  Harriet  very  merry  by  good-huinouredly 
telling  her  how  much  her  accidental  visit  had  incommoded 
them,  and  how  glad  they  were  to  get  rid  of  her. 

We  have  only  to  relate  one  more  instance  of  Harriet  Heath- 
cote's  sociable  visits.  This  was  to  her  friends  the  Tanfields, 
a  very  charming  family,  consisting  of  a  widow  and  her  two 
daughters,  whom  she  was  certain  of  finding  at  home,  because 
they  were  in  deep  mourning,  and  did  not  go  out  of  an  evening. 

Harriet  had  been  detained  by  a  visiter,  and  it  was  nearly 
dark  when  she  reached  Mrs.  Tanfield's  door,  and  was  told  by 
the  coloured  man  who  opened  it,  that  all  his  ladies  had  set  out 
that  morning  for  New  York,  having  heard  that  young  Mr. 
Tanfield  (who  lived  in  that  city)  was  dangerously  ill.  Harriet 
was  sorry  that  her  friends  should  have  received  such  painful 
intelligence,  and  for  a  few  moments  could  think  of  nothing 
else,  for  she  knew  young  Tanfield  to  be  one  of  the  best  of  sons 
and  brothers.  Her  next  consideration  was  how  to  get  home, 
as  there  was  no  possibility  of  staying  at  Mrs.  Tanfield's.  Her 
residence  was  at  a  considerable  distance,  and  "the  gloomy 
night  was  gathering  fast."  She  thought  for  a  moment  of 
asking  Peters,  the  black  man,  to  accompany  her ;  but  from 
the  loud  chattering  and  giggling  that  came  up  from  the  kitchen, 
(which  seemed  to  be  lighted  with  unusual  brightness),  and 
from  having  noticed,  as  she  approached  the  house,  that  innu 
merable  coloured  people  were  trooping  down  the  area-steps, 
she  rightly  concluded  that  Mrs.  Tanfield's  servants  had  taken 
advantage  of  her  absence  to  give  a  party,  and  that  "  high  life 
below  stairs"  was  at  that  moment  performing. 

Fearing  that  if  she  requested  Peters  to  escort  her,  he  would 
comply  very  ungraciously,  or  perhaps  excuse  himself,  rather 
than  be  taken  away  from  his  company,  Miss  Heathcote  con 
cluded  on  essaying  to  walk  home  by  herself,  for  the  first  time 
in  her  life,  after  lamplight.  As  she  turned  from  the  door, 
(which  Peters  immediately  closed)  she  lingered  awhile  on  the 
step,  looking  out  upon  the  increasing  gloom,  and  afraid  to 
venture  into  it.  However,  as  there  seemed  no  alternative, 
she  summoned  all  her  courage,  and  set  off  at  a  brisk  pace. 
Her  intention  was  to  walk  quietly  along  without  showing  the 


400  SOCIABLE    VISITING. 

slightest  apprehension,  but  she  involuntarily  shrunk  aside 
whenever  she  met  any  of  the  other  sex.  On  suddenly  en 
countering  a  row  of  young  men,  arm  in  arm,  with  each  a  segar 
in  his  mouth,  she  came  to  a  full  stop,  and  actually  shook  with 
terror.  They  all  looked  at  her  a  moment,  and  then  made  way 
for  her  to  pass,  and  she  felt  as  if  she  could  have  plunged  into 
the  wall  to  avoid  touching  them. 

Presently  our  heroine  met  three  sailors  reeling  along,  evi 
dently  intoxicated,  and  singing  loudly.  She  kept  as  close  as 
possible  to  the  curbstone,  expecting  nothing  else  than  to  be 
rudely  accosted  by  them,  but  they  were  too  intent  upon  their 
song  to  notice  her ;  though  one  of  them  staggered  against  her, 
and  pushed  her  off  the  pavement,  so  as  almost  to  throw  her 
into  the  street. 

Her  way  home  lay  directly  in  front  of  the  "Walnut  Street 
Theatre,  which  she  felt  it  impossible  to  pass,  as  the  people 
were  just  crowding  in.  And  she  now  blessed  the  plan  of  the 
city  which  enabled  her  to  avoid  this  inconvenience  by  "  going 
round  a  square."  The  change  of  route  took  her  into  a  street 
comparatively  silent  and  retired,  and  now  her  greatest  fear  was 
of  being  seized  and  robbed.  She  would  have  given  the  world 
to  have  met  any  gentleman  of  her  acquaintance,  determining, 
if  she  did  so,  to  request  his  protection  home.  At  last  she 
perceived  one  approaching,  whose  appearance  she  thought  was 
familiar  to  her,  and  as  they  came  within  the  light  of  a  lamp, 
she  found  it  to  be  Mr.  Morland,  an  intimate  friend  of  her 
brother's.  He  looked  at  her  with  a  scrutinizing  glance,  as  if 
he  half-recognised  her  features  under  the  shade  of  her  hood. 
Poor  Harriet  now  felt  ashamed  and  mortified  that  Mr.  Mor 
land  should  see  her  alone  and  unprotected,  walking  in  the 
street  after  dark.  She  had  not  courage  to  utter  a  word,  but, 
drawing  her  hood  more  closely  over  her  face,  she  glided  hastily 
past  him,  and  walked  rapidly  on.  She  had  no  sooner  turned 
the  corner  of  the  street,  than  she  regretted  having  obeyed  the 
impulse  of  the  moment,  lamenting  her  want  of  presence  of 
mind,  and  reflecting  how  much  better  it  would  have  been  for 
her  to  have  stopped  Mr.  Morland,  and  candidly  explained  to 
him  her  embarrassing  situation.  But  it  was  now  too  late. 

Presently  there  was  a  cry  of  fire,  and  the  State  House  bell 
tolled  out  north-east,  which  was  exactly  the  contrary  direction 
from  Mr.  Heathcote's  residence.  Immediately  an  engine  came 
thundering  along  the  street,  accompanied  by  a  hose,  and  fol 
lowed  by  several  others,  and  Harriet  found  herself  in  the 


SOCIABLE   VISITING.  401 

midst  of  the  crowd  and  uproar,  while  the  light  of  the  torches 
carried  by  the  firemen  glared  full  upon  her.  But  what  had 
at  first  struck  her  with  terror,  she  now  perceived  to  be  rather 
an  advantage  than  otherwise,  for  no  one  noticed  her  in  the 
general  confusion,  and  it  set  every  one  to  running  the  same 
way.  She  found,  as  she  approached  her  father's  dwelling,  that 
there  was  no  longer  any  danger  of  her  being  molested  by  man 
or  boy,  all  being  gone  to  the  fire,  and  the  streets  nearly  de 
serted.  Anxious  to  get  home  at  all  hazards,  she  commenced 
running  as  fast  as  she  could,  and  never  stopped  till  she  found 
herself  at  her  own  door. 

The  family  were  amazed  and  alarmed  when  they  saw  Har 
riet  run  into  the  parlour,  pale,  trembling,  and  almost  breath 
less,  and  looking  half  dead  as  she  threw  herself  on  the  sofa, 
unable  to  speak ;  and  she  did  not  recover  from  her  agitation, 
till  she  had  relieved  the  hurry  of  her  spirits  by  a  flood  of 
tears. 

It  was  some  minutes  before  Harriet  was  sufficiently  com 
posed  to  begin  an  explanation  of  the  events  of  the  evening. 

"  It  is  true,"  said  she,  "  that  I  have  not  been  actually  mo 
lested  or  insulted,  and  I  believe,  after  all,  that  in  our  orderly 
city  there  is  little  real  danger  to  be  apprehended  by  females 
of  respectable  appearance,  when  reduced  to  the  sad  necessity 
of  walking  alone  in  the  evening.  But  still  the  mere  supposi 
tion,  the  bare  possibility  of  being  thus  exposed  to  the  rudeness 
of  the  vulgar  and  unfeeling,  will  for  ever  prevent  me  from 
again  subjecting  myself  to  so  intolerable  a  situation.  I  know 
not  what  could  induce  me  again  to  go  through  all  I  have  suf 
fered  since  I  left  Mrs.  Tanfield's  door. — And  this  will  be  my 
last  attempt  at  sociable  visiting." 

We  submit  it  to  the  opinion  of  our  fair  readers,  whether,  in 
nine  cases  out  of  ten,  the  visits  of  ladies  do  not  "  go  off  the 
better/'  if  anticipated  by  some  previous  intimation.  We  be 
lieve  that  our  position  will  be  borne  out  by  the  experience 
both  of  the  visiters  and  the  visited.  Our  heroine,  as  we  have 
seen,  did  not  only,  on  most  of  these  occasions,  subject  herself 
to  much  disappointment  and  annoyance,  but  she  was  likewise 
the  cause  of  considerable  inconvenience  to  her  entertainers ; 
and  we  can  say  with  truth,  that  the  little  incidents  we  have 
selected  "to  point  our  moral  and  adorn  our  tale,"  are  all 
sketched  from  life  and  reality. 


COUNTRY    LODGINGS. 


"Chacun  a  son  gout." — French  Proverb. 

IT  has  often  been  a  subject  of  surprise  to  me,  that  so  many 
even  of  those  highly-gifted  people  who  are  fortunate  enough 
to  possess  both  sorts  of  sense  (common  and  uncommon),  show, 
nevertheless,  on  some  occasions,  a  strange  disinclination  to  be 
guided  by  the  self -evident  truth,  that  in  all  cases  where  the 
evil  preponderates  over  the  good,  it  is  better  to  reject  the  whole 
than  to  endure  a  large  portion  of  certain  evil  for  the  sake  of  a 
little  sprinkling  of  probable  good.  I  can  think  of  nothing, 
just  now,  that  will  more  aptly  illustrate  my  position,  than  the 
practice  so  prevalent  in  the  summer-months  of  quitting  a  com 
modious  and  comfortable  home,  in  this  most  beautiful  and 
convenient  of  cities,  for  the  purpose  of  what  is  called  boarding 
out  of  town ;  and  wilfully  encountering  an  assemblage  of  al 
most  all  "  the  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to,"  in  the  vain  hope  of 
finding  superior  coolness  in  those  establishments  that  go  under 
the  denomination  of  country  lodgings,  and  are  sometimes  to 
be  met  with  in  insulated  locations,  but  generally  in  the  un- 
paved  and  dusty  streets  of  the  villages  and  hamlets  that  are 
scattered  about  the  vicinity  of  Philadelphia. 

These  places  are  adopted  as  substitutes  for  the  springs  or 
the  sea-shore ;  and  it  is  also  not  unusual  for  persons  who  have 
already  accomplished  the  fashionable  tour,  to  think  it  expe 
dient  to  board  out  of  town  for  the  remainder  of  the  summer, 
or  till  they  are  frightened  home  by  the  autumnal  epidemics. 

I  have  more  than  once  been  prevailed  on  to  try  this  experi 
ment,  in  the  universal  search  after  coolness  which  occupies  so 
much  of  the  attention  of  my  fellow-citizens  from  June  to  Sep 
tember,  and  the  result  has  been  uniformly  the  same  :  a  con- 

(402) 


COUNTRY   LODGINGS.  403 

viction  that  a  mere  residence  beyond  the  limits  of  the  city  is 
not  an  infallible  remedy  for  all  the  desagrtmens  of  summer ; 
that  (to  say  nothing  of  other  discomforts)  it  is  possible  to  feel 
the  heat  more  in  a  small  house  out  of  the  town  than  in  a  large 
one  in  it. 

The  last  time  I  was  induced  to  make  a  trial  of  the  delights 
of  country  lodgings,  I  had  been  told  of  a  very  genteel  lady 
(the  widow  of  an  Englishman,  said  to  have  been  highly  con 
nected  in  his  own  country),  who  had  taken  a  charming  house 
at  a  short  distance  from  the  city,  with  the  intention  of  accom 
modating  boarders  for  the  summer;  and  I  finally  allowed 
myself  to  be  prevailed  on  to  become  an  inmate  of  her  estab 
lishment,  as  I  had  just  returned  from  the  north,  and  found 
the  weather  still  very  warm. 

Two  of  my  friends,  a  lady  and  gentleman,  accompanied  me 
when  I  went  to  engage  my  apartment.  The  ride  was  a  very 
short  one,  and  we  soon  arrived  at  a  white  frame  house  with 
green  window-shutters,  and  also  a  green  gate  which  opened 
into  a  little  front  garden  with  one  gravel  walk,  two  grass  plats, 
and  four  Lombardy  poplar  trees,  which,  though  excluded  in 
the  city,  still  keep  their  ground  in  out-of-town  places. 

There  was  no  knocker,  but,  after  hammering  ancl  shaking 
the  door  for  near  five  minutes,  it  was  at  last  opened  by  a  bare 
footed  bound-girl,  who  hid  herself  behind  it  as  if  ashamed  to 
be  seen.  She  wore  a  ragged  light  calico  frock,  through  the 
slits  of  which  appeared  at  intervals  a  black  stuff  petticoat : 
the  body  was  only  kept  together  with  pins,  and  partly  con 
cealed  by  a  dirty  cape  of  coarse  white  muslin ;  one  lock  of  her 
long  yellow  hair  was  stuck  up  by  the  wreck  of  a  horn  comb, 
and  the  remaining  tresses  hung  about  her  shoulders.  When 
we  inquired  if  Mrs.  Netherby  was  at  home,  the  girl  scratched 
her  head,  and  stared  as  if  stupified  by  the  question,  and  on 
its  being  repeated,  she  replied  that  "  she  would  go  and  look/' 
and  then  left  us  standing  at  the  door.  A  coloured  servant  would 
have  opened  the  parlour,  ushered  us  in,  and  with  smiles  and 
curtsies  requested  us  to  be  seated.  However,  we  took  the 
liberty  of  entering  without  invitation  :  and  the  room  being 
perfectly  dark,  we  also  used  the  freedom  of  opening  the 
shutters. 

The  floor  was  covered  with  a  mat  which  fitted  nowhere,  and 

showed  evidence  of  long  service.     Whatever  air  might  have 

been  introduced  through  the  fire-place,  was  effectually  excluded 

by  a  thick  chimney-board,  covered  with  a  square  of  wall-paper 

31 


404  COUNTRY   LODGINGS. 

representing  King  George  IV.  visiting  his  cameleopard.  I 
afterwards  found  that  Mrs.  Netherby  was  very  proud  of  her 
husband's  English  origin.  The  mantel-piece  was  higher  than 
our  heads,  and  therefore  the  mirror  that  adorned  it  was  too 
elevated  to  be  of  any  use.  This  lofty  shelf  was  also  decorated 
with  two  pasteboard  baskets,  edged  with  gilt  paper,  and  painted 
with  bunches  of  calico-looking  flowers,  two  fire-screens  ditto, 
and  two  card-racks  in  the  shape  of  harps  with  loose  and  crooked 
strings  of  gold  thread.  In  the  centre  of  the  room  stood  an 
old-fashioned  round  tea-table,  the  feet  black  with  age,  and  the 
top  covered  with  one  of  those  coarse  unbleached  cloths  of 
figured  linen  that  always  look  like  dirty  white.  The  curiosi 
ties  of  the  centre-table  consisted  of  a  tumbler  of  marigolds  :  a 
dead  souvenir  which  had  been  a  living  one  in  1826  :  a  scrap 
work-box  stuck  all  over  with  figures  of  men,  women,  and  chil 
dren,  which  had  been  most  wickedly  cut  out  of  engravings  and 
deprived  of  their  back-grounds  for  this  purpose  :  an  album 
with  wishy-washy  drawings  and  sickening  verses :  a  china 
writing-apparatus,  destitute  alike  of  ink,  sand,  and  wafers : 
and  a  card  of  the  British  consul,  which,  I  afterwards  learnt, 
had  once  been  left  by  him  for  Mr.  Netherby. 

The  walls  were  ornamented  with  enormous  heads  drawn  in 
black  crayon,  and  hung  up  in  narrow  gilt  frames  with  bows 
of  faded  gauze  riband.  One  head  was  inscribed  Innocence, 
and  had  a  crooked  mouth ;  a  second  was  Beneficence,  with  a 
crooked  nose ;  and  a  third  was  Contemplation,  with  a  pro 
digious  swelling  on  one  of  her  cheeks ;  and  the  fourth  was 
Veneration,  turning  up  two  eyes  of  unequal  size.  The  flesh 
of  one  of  these  heads  looked  like  china,  and  another  like  satin  ; 
the  third  had  the  effect  of  velvet,  and  the  fourth  resembled 
plush. 

All  these  things  savoured  of  much  unfounded  pretension ; 
but  we  did  not  then  know  that  they  were  chiefly  the  work  of 
Mrs.  Netherby  herself,  who,  as  we  learned  in  the  sequel,  had 
been  blest  with  a  boarding-school  education,  and  was,  according 
to  her  own  opinion,  a  person  of  great  taste  and  high  polish. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  the  lady  made  her  appearance,  as 
we  had  arrived  in  the  midst  of  the  siesta  in  which  it  was  the 
custom  of  every  member  of  the  establishment  (servants  in 
cluded)  to  indulge  themselves  during  the  greatest  part  of  the 
afternoon,  with  the  exception  of  the  bound-girl,  who  was  left 
up  to  "  mind  the  house."  Mrs.  Netherby  was  a  tall,  thin, 
sharp-faced  woman,  with  an  immense  cap,  that  stood  out  all 


COUNTRY    LODGINGS.  405 

round,  and  encircled  her  head  like  a  halo,  and  was  embellished 
with  an  enormous  quantity  of  yellowish  gauze  riband  that 
seemed  to  incorporate  with  her  huge  yellow  curls :  fair  hair 
being  much  affected  by  ladies  who  have  survived  all  other 
fairness.  She  received  us  with  abundance  of  smiles,  and  a 
profusion  of  flat  compliments,  uttered  in  a  voice  of  affected 
softness ;  and  on  making  known  my  business,  I  was  conducted 
up-stairs  to  see  a  room  which  she  said  would  suit  me  exactly. 
Mrs.  Netherby  was  what  is  called  "  a  sweet  woman. " 

The  room  was  small,  but  looked  tolerably  well,  and  though 
I  was  not  much  prepossessed  in  favour  of  either  the  house  or 
the  lady,  I  was  unwilling  that  my  friends  should  think  me 
too  fastidious,  and  it  was  soon  arranged  that  I  should  take 
possession  the  following  day. 

Next  afternoon  I  arrived  at  my  new  quarters }  and  tea  being 
ready  soon  after,  I  was  introduced  to  the  other  boarders,  as 
they  came  down  from  their  respective  apartments.  The  table 
was  set  in  a  place  dignified  with  the  title  of  "  the  dining-room/' 
but  which  was  in  reality  a  sort  of  anti-kitchen,  and  located 
between  the  acknowledged  kitchen  and  the  parlour.  It  still 
retained  vestiges  of  a  dresser,  part  of  which  was  entire,  in  the 
shape  of  the  broad  lower-shelf  and  the  under-closets.  This 
was  painted  red,  and  Mrs.  Netherby  called  it  the  side-board. 
The  room  was  narrow,  the  ceiling  was  low,  the  sunbeams  had 
shone  full  upon  the  windows  the  whole  afternoon,  and  the 
heat  was  extreme.  A  mulatto  man  waited  on  the  tea-table, 
with  his  coat  out  at  elbows,  and  a  marvellous  dirty  apron,  not 
thinking  it  worth  his  while  to  wear  good  clothes  in  the  country. 
And  while  he  was  tolerably  attentive  to  every  one  else,  he 
made  a  point  of  disregarding  or  disobeying  every  order  given 
to  him  by  Mrs.  Netherby :  knowing  that  for  so  trifling  a  cause 
as  disrespect  to  herself,  she  would  not  dare  to  dismiss  him  at 
the  risk  of  getting  no  one  in  his  place ;  it  being  always  under 
stood  that  servants  confer  a  great  favour  on  their  employers 
when  they  condescend  to  go  with  them  into  the  country.  Be 
hind  Mrs.  Netherby' s  chair  stood  the  long-haired  bound  girl 
(called  Anna  by  her  mistress,  and  Nance  by  Bingham  the 
waiter),  waving  a  green  poplar  branch  by  way  of  fly-brush, 
and  awkwardly  flirting  it  in  every  one's  face. 

The  aspect  of  the  tea-table  was  not  inviting.  Everything 
was  in  the  smallest  possible  quantity  that  decency  would 
allow.  There  was  a  plate  of  rye-bread,  and  a  plate  of  wheat, 
and  a  basket  of  crackers :  another  plate  with  half  a  dozen. 


406  COUNTRY   LODGINGS. 

paltry  cakes  that  looked  as  if  they  had  been  bought  under  the 
old  Court  House  :  some  morsels  of  dried  beef  on  two  little 
tea-cup  plates,  and  a  small  glass  dish  of  that  preparation  of 
curds,  which  in  vulgar  language  is  called  smearcase,  but  whose 
nom  de  guerre  is  cottage-cheese,  at  least  that  was  the  appella 
tion  given  it  by  our  hostess.  The  tea  was  so  weak  that  it  was 
difficult  to  discover  whether  it  was  black  or  green  ;  but,  finding 
it  undrinkable,  I  requested  a  glass  of  milk :  and  when  Bingham 
brought  me  one,  Mrs.  Netherby  said  with  a  smile,  "  See  what 
it  is  to  live  in  the  country !"  Though,  after  all,  we  were  not 
out  of  sight  of  Christ  Church  steeple. 

The  company  consisted  of  a  lady  with  three  very  bad  child 
ren  ;  another  with  a  very  insipid  daughter,  about  eighteen  or 
twenty,  who,  like  her  mother,  seemed  utterly  incapable  of 
conversation ;  and  a  fat  Mrs.  Pownsey,  who  talked  an  infinite 
deal  of  nothing,  and  soon  took  occasion  to  let  me  know  that 
she  had  a  very  handsome  house  in  the  city.  The  gentlemen 
belonging  to  these  ladies  never  came  out  till  after  tea,  and  re 
turned  to  town  early  in  the  morning. 

Towards  sunset,  I  proposed  taking  a  walk  with  the  young 
lady,  but  she  declined  on  account  of  the  dew,  and  we  returned 
to  the  parlour,  where  there  was  no  light  during  the  whole 
evening,  as  Mrs.  Netherby  declared  that  she  thought  nothing 
was  more  pleasant  than  to  sit  in  a  dark  room  in  the  summer. 
And  when  we  caught  a  momentary  glimpse  from  the  candles 
that  were  carried  past  the  door  as  the  people  went  up  and 
down  stairs,  we  had  the  pleasure  of  finding  that  innumerable 
cockroaches  were  running  over  the  floor  and  probably  over 
our  feet;  these  detestable  insects  having  also  a  fancy  for 
darkness. 

The  youngest  of  the  mothers  went  up  stairs  to  assist  her 
maid  in  the  arduous  task  of  putting  the  children  to  bed,  a 
business  that  occupied  the  whole  evening ;  though  the  eldest 
boy  stoutly  refused  to  go  at  all,  and  stretching  himself  on  the 
settee,  he  slept  there  till  ten  o'clock,  when  his  father  carried 
him  off  kicking  and  screaming. 

The  gentlemen  talked  altogether  of  trade  and  bank  business. 
Some  neighbours  came  in,  and  nearly  fell  over  us  in  the  dark. 
Finding  the  parlour  (which  had  but  one  door)  most  insup- 
portably  warm,  I  took  my  seat  in  the  entry,  a  narrow  passage 
which  Mrs.  Netherby  called  the  hall.  Thither  I  was  followed 
by  Mrs.  Pownsey,  a  lady  of  the  Malaprop  school,  who  had 
been  talking  to  me  all  the  evening  of  her  daughters,  Mary 


COUNTRY  LODGINGS.  407 

Margaret  and  Sarah  Susan,  they  being  now  on  a  visit  to  an 
aunt  in  Connecticut.  These  young  ladies  had  been  educated, 
as  their  mother  informed  me,  entirely  by  herself,  on  a  plan  of 
her  own  :  and,  as  she  assured  me,  with  complete  success ;  for 
Sarah  Susan,  the  youngest,  though  only  ten  years  old,  was 
already  regarded  as  quite  a  phinnoininy  (phenomenon),  and  as 
to  Mary  Margaret,  she  was  an  absolute  prodigal. 

"  I  teach  them  everything  myself,"  said  she,  "  except  their 
French,  and  music,  and  drawing,  in  all  which  they  take  lessons 
from  the  first  masters.  And  Mr.  Bullhead,  an  English  gen 
tleman,  comes  twice  a  week  to  attend  to  their  reading  and 
writing  and  arithmetic,  and  the  grammar  of  geography.  They 
never  have  a  moment  to  themselves,  but  are  kept  busy  from 
morning  till  night.  You  know  that  idleness  is  the  root  of  all 
evil." 

"  It  is  certainly  the  root  of  much  evil,"  I  replied ;  "  but 
you  know  the  old  adage,  which  will  apply  equally  to  both 
sexes — l  All  work  and  no  play  makes  Jack  a  dull  boy/  " 

"  Oh  !  they  often  play,"  resumed  Mrs.  Pownsey.  "  In  the 
evening,  after  they  have  learned  their  lessons,  they  have  games 
of  history,  and  botany,  and  mathematics,  and  all  such  instructive 
diversions.  I  allow  them  no  other  plays.  Their  minds  certainly 
are  well  stored  with  all  the  arts  and  science.  At  the  same  time,  as 
I  wish  them  to  acquire  a  sufficient  idea  of  what  is  going  on  in 
the  world,  I  permit  them  every  day  to  read  over  the  Marianne 
List  in  our  New  York  paper,  the  Chimerical  Advertiser,  that 
they  may  have  a  proper  knowledge  of  ships :  and  also  Mr. 
Walsh's  Experts  in  his  Gazette  ]  though  I  believe  he  does  not 
write  these  little  moral  things  himself,  but  hires  Mr.  Addison, 
and  Mr.  Bacon,  and  Mr.  Locke,  and  other  such  gentlemen  for 
the  purpose.  The  Daily  Chronicle  I  never  allow  them  to 
touch,  for  there  is  almost  always  a  story  in  every  paper,  and 
none  of  these  stories  are  warranted  to  be  true,  and  reading 
falsehoods  will  learn  them  to  tell  fibs." 

I  was  much  amused  with  this  process  of  reasoning,  though 
I  had  more  than  once  heard  such  logic  on  the  subject  of  ficti 
tious  narratives. 

"  But,  surely,  Mrs.  Pownsey,"  said  I,  "  you  do  not  inter 
dict  all  works  of  imagination  ?  Do  you  never  permit  your 
daughters  to  read  for  amusement  ?" 

"  Never,"  replied  this  wisest  of  mothers;  "  amusement  is 
the  high-road  to  vice.  Indeed,  with  all  their  numerous  studies, 
they  have  little  or  no  time  for  reading  anything.  And  when 
34* 


408  COUNTRY  LODGINGS. 

they  have,  I  watch  well  that  they  shall  read  only  books  of 
instruction,  such  as  Mr.  Bullhead  chooses  for  them.  They 
are  now  at  Rowland's  Ancient  History  (I  am  told  he  is  not 
the  same  Rowland  that  makes  the  Maccassar  oil),  and  they 
have  already  got  through  seven  volumes.  Their  Aunt  Watson 
(who,  between  ourselves,  is  rather  a  weak-minded  woman)  is 
shocked  at  the  children  reading  that  book,  and  says  it  is  filled 
with  crimes  and  horrors.  But  so  is  all  the  Ancient  History 
that  ever  I  heard  of,  and  of  course  it  is  proper  that  little  girls 
should  know  these  things.  They  will  get  a  great  deal  more 
benefit  from  Rowland  than  from  reading  Miss  Edgeworth's 
story-books,  that  sister  Watson  is  always  recommending." 

"  Have  they  ever  read  the  history  of  their  own  country  ?" 
said  I. 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  the  History  of  America,"  replied 
Mrs.  Pownsey.  "  Oh  !  that  is  of  no  consequence  at  all,  and 
Mr.  Bullhead  says  it  is  never  read  in  England.  After  they 
have  got  through  Rowland,  they  are  going  to  begin  Sully's 
Memoirs.  I  know  Mr.  Sully  very  well;  and  when  they  have 
read  it,  I  will  make  the  girls  tell  me  his  whole  history ;  he 
painted  my  portrait,  and  a  most  delightful  man  he  is,  only 
rather  obstinate ;  for  with  all  I  could  say,  I  could  not  prevail 
on  him  to  rub  out  the  white  spots  that  he  foolishly  put  in  the 
black  part  of  my  eyes.  And  he  also  persisted  in  making  one 
side  of  my  nose  darker  than  the  other.  It  is  strange  that  in 
these  things  painters  will  always  take  their  own  course  in  spite 
of  us,  as  if  we  that  pay  for  the  pictures  have  not  a  right  to 
direct  them  as  we  please.  But  the  artist  people  are  all  alike. 
My  friend,  Mrs.  Oakface,  tells  me  she  had  just  the  same 
trouble  with  Mr.  Neagle ;  in  that  respect  he's  quite  as  bad  as 
Mr.  Sully." 

She  paused  a  moment  to  take  breath,  and  then  proceeded  in 
continuation  of  the  subject.  "  Now  we  talk  of  pictures,  you 
have  no  idea  what  beautiful  things  my  daughters  can  paint. 
The  very  first  quarter  they  each  produced  two  pieces  to  frame. 
And  Mary  Margaret  is  such  a  capital  judge  of  these  things, 
that  whenever  she  is  looking  at  a  new  souvenir,  her  first 
thought  is  to  see  who  did  the  pictures,  that  she  may  know 
which  to  praise  and  which  not.  There  are  a  great  many  art 
ists  now,  but  I  remember  the  time  when  almost  all  the  pictures 
were  done  by  Mr.  Sculp  and  Mr.  Pinx.  And  then  as  to  music ! 
I  wish  you  could  hear  my  daughters.  Their  execution  is  won 
derful.  They  can  play  crotchets  quite  as  well  as  quivers ;  and 


COUNTRY  LODGINGS.  409 

tliey  sing  sollos,  and  dooets,  and  tryos,  and  quartetties  equal  to 
the  Musical  Fund.  I  long  for  the  time  when  they  are  old 
enough  to  come  out,  I  will  go  with  them  everywhere  myself; 
I  am  determined  to  be  their  perpetual  shabberoon." 

So  much  for  the  lady  that  educated  her  daughters  herself. 

And  still,  when  the  mother  is  capable  and  judicious,  I  know 
no  system  of  education  that  is  likely  to  be  attended  with  more 
complete  success  than  that  which  keeps  the  child  under  the 
immediate  superintendence  of  those  who  are  naturally  the 
most  interested  in  her  improvement  and  welfare ;  and  which 
removes  her  from  the  contagion  of  bad  example,  and  the  dan 
ger  of  forming  improper  or  unprofitable  acquaintances.  Some 
of  the  finest  female  minds  I  have  ever  known  received  all  their 
cultivation  at  home.  But  much,  indeed,  are  those  ehildren  to 
be  commiserated,  whose  education  has  been  undertaken  by  a 
vain  and  ignorant  parent. 

About  nine  o'clock,  Mrs.  Netherby  had  begun  to  talk  of 
the  lateness  of  the  hour,  giving  hints  that  it  was  time  to  think 
of  retiring  for  the  night,  and  calling  Bingham  to  shut  up  the 
house  :  which  order  he  did  not  see  proper  to  obey  till  half-past 
ten.  I  then  (after  much  delay  and  difficulty  in  obtaining  a 
bed-candle)  adjourned  to  my  own  apartment,  the  evening  hav 
ing  appeared  to  me  of  almost  interminable  length,  as  is  gene 
rally  the  case  with  evenings  that  are  passed  without  light. 

The  night  was  warm,  and  after  removing  the  chimney-board, 
I  left  the  sash  of  my  window  open  :  though  I  had  been  cau 
tioned  not  to  do  so,  and  told  that  in  the  country  the  night  air 
was  always  unwholesome.  But  I  remembered  Dr.  Franklin's 
essay  on  the  art  of  sleeping  well.  It  was  long  before  I 
closed  my  eyes,  as  the  heat  was  intense,  and  my  bed  very 
uncomfortable.  The  bolster  and  pillow  were  nearly  flat  for 
want  of  sufficient  feathers,  and  the  sheets  of  thick  muslin  were 
neither  long  enough  nor  wide  enough.  At  "  the  witching 
time  of  night,"  I  was  suddenly  awakened  by  a  most  terrible 
shrieking  and  bouncing  in  my  room,  and  evidently  close  upon 
me.  I  started  up  in  a  fright,  and  soon  ascertained  the  presence 
of  two  huge  cats,  who,  having  commenced  a  duel  on  the  trellis 
of  an  old  blighted  grape-vine  that  unfortunately  ran  under  the 
back  windows,  had  sprung  in  at  the  open  sash,  and  were  fin 
ishing  the  fight  on  my  bed,  biting  and  scratching  each  other 
in  a  style  that  an  old  backwoodsman  would  have  recognised 
as  the  true  rough  and  tumble. 

With  great  difficulty  I  succeeded  in  expelling  my  fiendish 


410  COUNTRY  LODGINGS, 

visitors,  and  to  prevent  their  return,  there  was  nothing  to  bo 
done  but  to  close  the  sash.  There  were  no  shutters,  and  the 
only  screen  was  a  scanty  muslin  curtain,  divided  down  the 
middle  with  so  wide  a  gap  that  it  was  impossible  to  close  it 
effectually.  The  air  being  now  excluded,  the  heat  was  so 
intolerable  as  to  prevent  me  from  sleeping,  and  the  cats  re 
mained  on  the  trellis,  looking  in  at  the  window  with  their 
glaring  eyes,  yelling  and  scratching  at  the  glass,  and  trying 
to  get  in  after  some  mice  that  were  beginning  to  course  about 
the  floor. 

The  heat,  the  cats  and  the  mice,  kept  me  awake  till  near 
morning;  and  I  fell,  asleep  about  daylight,  when  I  dreamed 
that  a  large  cat  stood  at  my  bed-side,  and  slowly  and  gradually 
swelling  to  the  size  of  a  tiger,  darted  its  long  claws  into  my 
throat.  Of  course,  I  again  woke  in  a  fright,  and  regretted  • 
my  own  large  room  in  the  city,  where  there  was  no  trellis 
under  my  windows,  and  where  the  sashes  were  made  to  slide 
down  at  the  top. 

I  rose  early  with  the  intention  of  taking  a  walk,  as  was  my 
custom  \^ien  in  town,  but  the  grass  was  covered  with  dew, 
and  the  road  was  ankle-deep  in  dust.  So  I  contented  myself 
with  making  a  few  circuits  round  the  garden,  where  I  saw 
four  altheas,  one  rose-tree,  and  two  currant-bushes,  with  a  few 
common  flowers  on  each  side  of  a  grass-grown  gravel  walk ; 
neither  the  landlord  nor  the  tenant  being  willing  to  incur  any 
further  expense  by  improving  the  domain.  The  grape-vine 
and  trellis  had  been  erected  by  a  former  occupant,  a  French 
man,  who  had  golden  visions  of  wine-making. 

At  breakfast,  we  were  regaled  with  muddy  water,  miscalled 
coffee ;  a  small  dish  of  doubtful  eggs ;  and  another  of  sliced 
cucumbers,  very  yellow  and  swimming  in  sweetish  vinegar; 
also  two  plates  containing  round  white  lumps  of  heavy  half- 
baked  dough,  dignified  by  the  title  of  Maryland  biscuit ;  and 
one  of  dry  toast,  the  crumb  left  nearly  white,  and  the  crust 
burnt  to  a  coal. 

After  breakfast,  there  came  walking  into  the  room  a  tame 
white  pigeon,  which  Mrs.  Netherby  told  us  was  a  turtle-dove. 
"  Dear  sweet  Phebe,"  she  exclaimed,  taking  up  the  bird  and 
fondling  it,  "  has  it  come  for  its  breakfast ;  well,  then,  kiss  its 
own  mistress,  and  it  shall  have  some  nice  soft  bread." 

The  pigeon  was  then  handed  round  to  be  admired  (it  was 
really  a  pretty  one),  and  Mrs.  Netherby  told  us  a  long  story 
of  its  coming  to  the  house  in  the  early  part  of  the  summer 


COUNTRY   LODGINGS.  411 

with  its  mate,  who  was  soon  after  killed  by  lightning  in  con 
sequence  of  sitting  on  the  roof  close  by  the  conductor  during 
a  thunderstorm,  and  she  was  very  eloquent  and  sentimental 
in  describing  the  manner  in  which  Phebe  had  mourned  for  her 
deceased  companion,  declaring  that  the  widowed  dove  often 
reminded  her  of  herself  after  she  had  lost  poor  dear  Mr. 
Netherby. 

Our  hostess  then  crumbled  some  bread  on  the  floor,  and 
placed  near  it  a  saucer  of  water,  and  she  rose  greatly  in  my 
estimation  when  I  observed  the  fixed  look  of  delight  with 
which  she  gazed  on  the  pet-bird,  and  her  evident  fondness  as 
she  caressed  it,  and  carried  it  out  of  the  room,  after  it  had 
finished  its  repast.  u  Notwithstanding  her  parsimony  and  her 
pretension,'7  thought  I,  "  Mrs.  Netherby  has  certainly  a  good 
heart." 

I  went  to  my  own  room,  and  could  easily  have  beguiled  the 
morning  with  my  usual  occupations,  but  that  I  was  much  in 
commoded  by  the  intense  heat  of  my  little  apartment,  whose 
thin  walls  were  completely  penetrated  by  the  sun.  Also,  I 
was  greatly  annoyed  by  the  noise  of  the  children  in  the  next 
room  and  on  the  staircase.  It  was  not  the  joyous  exhilaration 
of  play,  or  the  shouts  and  laughter  of  good-humoured  romping 
(all  that  I  could  easily  have  borne) ;  but  I  heard  only  an  in 
cessant  quarrelling,  fighting,  and  screaming,  which  was  gene 
rally  made  worse  by  the  interference  of  the  mother  whenever 
she  attempted  to  silence  it. 

Shortly  before  dinner,  the  bound-girl  came  up  and  went  the 
rounds  of  all  the  chambers  to  collect  the  tumblers  from  the 
washing-stands,  which  tumblers  were  made  to  perform  double 
duty  by  figuring  also  on  the  dining-table.  This  would  have 
been  no  great  inconvenience,  only  that  no  one  remembered  to 
bring  them  back  again,  and  the  glasses  were  not  restored  to 
our  rooms  till  after  repeated  applications. 

The  dinner  consisted  of  very  salt  fried  ham ;  and  a  pair  of 
skeleton  chickens,  with  a  small  black-looking  leg  of  mutton  ; 
and  a  few  half-drained  vegetables,  set  about  on  little  plates 
with  a  puddle  of  greasy  water  in  the  bottom  of  each.  However, 
as  we  were  in  the  country,  there  was  a  pitcher  of  milk  for 
those  that  chose  to  drink  milk  at  dinner.  For  the  dessert  we 
had  half  a  dozen  tasteless  custards,  the  tops  burnt,  and  the 
cups  half-full  of  whey,  a  plate  of  hard  green  pears,  another  of 
hard  green  apples,  and  a  small  whitish  watermelon. 

"What  a  fine  thing  it  is  to  be  in  the  country/'  said  Mrs. 


412  COUNTRY   LODGINGS. 

Netherby,  "and  have  such  abundance  of  delicious  fruit!  I 
can  purchase  every  variety  from  niy  next  neighbour." 

The  truth  is,  that  even  where  there  is  really  an  inclination 
to  furnish  a  good  table,  there  is  generally  much  difficulty  and 
inconvenience  in  procuring  the  requisite  articles  at  any  country 
place  that  is  not  absolutely  a  farm,  and  where  the  arrangements 
are  not  on  an  extensive  scale.  Mrs.  Netherby,  however,  made 
no  apology  for  any  deficiency,  but  always  went  on  with  smil 
ing  composure,  praising  everything  on  the  table,  and  wondering 
how  people  could  think  of  remaining  in  the  city  when  they 
might  pass  the  summer  in  the  country.  As  the  gentlemen 
ate  their  meals  in  town  (a  proof  of  their  wisdom),  ours  were 
very  irregular  as  to  time;  Mrs.  Netherby  supposing  that  it 
could  make  no  difference  to  ladies,  or  to  any  persons  who  had 
not  business  that  required  punctual  attention. 

Two  days  after  my  arrival,  the  dust  having  been  laid  by  a 
shower,  Mrs.  Pownsey  and  myself  set  out  to  walk  on  the  road, 
in  the  latter  part  of  the  afternoon.  When  we  came  home,  I 
found  that  the  washing-stand  had  been  removed  from  my  room, 
and  the  basin  and  pitcher  placed  in  the  corner  on  a  little 
triangular  shelf  that  had  formerly  held  a  flower-pot.  The 
mirror  was  also  gone,  and  I  found  as  a  substitute  a  little  half- 
dollar  Dutch  glass  in  a  narrow  red  frame.  The  two  best 
chairs  were  also  missing,  one  chair  only  being  left,  and  that  a 
broken  one ;  and  a  heavy  patch-work  quilt  had  taken  the  place 
of  the  white  dimity  bed-cover.  I  learnt  that  these  articles 
had  been  abstracted  to  furnish  a  chamber  that  was  as  yet 
disengaged,  and  which  they  were  to  decorate  by  way  of  enti 
cing  a  new-comer.  Next  morning,  after  my  room  had  been 
put  in  order,  I  perceived  that  the  mattrass  had  been  exchanged 
for  a  feather-bed,  and  on  inquiring  the  reason  of  Mrs.  Netherby 
she  told  me,  with  much  sweetness,  that  it  had  been  taken  for  two 
southern  ladies  that  were  expected  in  the  afternoon,  and  who, 
being  southern,  could  not  possibly  sleep  on  anything  but  a  mat- 
trass,  and  that  she  was  sorry  to  cause  me  any  inconvenience,  but 
it  would  be  a  great  disadvantage  to  her  if  they  declined  coming. 

In  short,  almost  every  day  something  disappeared  from  my 
room  to  assist  in  fitting  up  apartments  for  strangers  }  the  same 
articles  being  afterwards  transferred  to  others  that  were  still 
unoccupied.  But  what  else  was  to  be  done,  when  Mrs. 
Netherby  mildly  represented  the  impossibility  of  getting 
things  at  a  short  notice  from  town  ? 

My  time  passed  very  monotonously.     The  stock  of  books  I 


COUNTRY   LODGINGS.  413 

had  brought  with  me  was  too  soon  exhausted,  and  I  had  no 
sewing  of  sufficient  importance  to  interest  my  attention.  The 
nonsense  of  Mrs.  Pownsey  became  very  tiresome,  and  the 
other  ladies  were  mere  automatons.  The  children  were  taken 
sick  (as  children  generally  are  at  country  lodgings),  and  fretted 
and  cried  all  the  time.  I  longed  for  the  society  of  my  friends 
in  the  city,  and  for  the  unceremonious  visits  that  are  so  plea 
sant  in  summer  evenings. 

After  a  trial  of  two  weeks,  during  which  I  vainly  hoped 
that  custom  would  reconcile  me  to  much  that  had  annoyed  me 
at  first,  I  determined  to  return  to  Philadelphia ;  in  the  full 
persuasion  that  this  would  be  my  last  essay  at  boarding  out 
of  town. 

On  the  day  before  my  departure,  we  were  all  attracted  to 
the  front-garden,  to  see  a  company  of  city  volunteers,  who 
were  marching  to  a  certain  field  where  they  were  to  practise 
shooting  at  a  target.  While  we  were  lingering  to  catch  the 
last  glimpse  of  them  as  long  as  they  remained  in  sight,  the 
cook  came  to  Mrs.  Netherby  (who  was  affectedly  smelling  the 
leaves  of  a  dusty  geranium),  and  informed  her  that  though  she 
had  collected  all  the  cold  meat  in  the  house,  there  was  still  not 
enough  to  fill  the  pie  that  was  to  be  a  part  of  the  dinner.* 
"  Oh  !  then,"  replied  Mrs.  Netherby,  with  perfect  sang-froid, 
and  in  her  usual  soft  voice,  "  put  Phebe  on  the  top  of  it — 
put  Phebe  on  the  top."  "Do  you  mean,"  said  the  cook, 
"that  I  am. to  kill  the  pigeon  to  help  out  with  ?"  "Cer 
tainly,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Netherby,  "  put  Phebe  in  the  pie." 

There  was  a  general  exclamation  from  all  present,  except 
from  the  automaton  young  lady  and  her  mamma ;  and  the 
children  who  were  looking  out  of  the  front  windows  were  loud 
in  lamentations  for  the  poor  pigeon,  who,  in  truth,  had  con 
stituted  their  only  innocent  amusement.  For  my  part,  I  could 
not  forbear  openly  expressing  my  surprise  that  Mrs.  Netherby 
should  think  for  a  moment  of  devoting  her  pet  pigeon  to  such 
a  purpose,  and  I  earnestly  deprecated  its  impending  fate. 

Mrs.  Netherby  reddened,  and  forgetting  her  usual  mildness, 
her  eyes  assumed  a  very  cat-like  expression  as  she  replied  to 
me  in  a  loud  sharp  voice.  "  Upon  my  word,  miss,  this  is 
very  strange.  Really,  you  astonish  me.  This  is  something 
quite  new.  I  am  not  at  all  accustomed  to  having  the  ladies 
of  my  family  to  meddle  in  my  private  affairs.  Really,  miss, 
it  is  excessively  odd  that  you  should  presume  to  dictate  to 

*  Fact. 


414  COUNTRY   LODGINGS. 

me  about  the  disposal  of  my  own  property.  I  have  some  ex 
quisite  veal-cutlets  and  some  delicious  calves-feet,  but  the  pie 
is  wanted  for  a  centre  dish.  I  am  always,  as  you  know,  par 
ticular  in  giving  my  table  a  handsome  set-out." 

In  vain  we  protested  our  willingness  to  dine  without  the 
centre  dish,  rather  than  the  pigeon,  whom  we  regarded  in  the 
light  of  an  intimate  acquaintance,  should  be  killed  to  furnish 
it,  all  declaring  that  nothing  could  induce  us  to  taste  a  mouth 
ful  of  poor  Phebe.  Mrs.  Netherby,  obstinately  bent  on  carry 
ing  her  point  (as  is  generally  the  case  with  women  who  profess 
an  extra  portion  of  sweetness),  heard  us  unmoved,  only  reply 
ing,  "  Certainly,  miss,  you  cannot  deny  that  the  bird  is  mine, 
and  that  I  have  a  right  to  do  as  I  please  with  my  own  pro 
perty.  Phillis,  put  Phebe  in  the  pie  I" 

The  cook  grinned,  and  stood  irresolute ;  when  suddenly 
Bingham  the  waiter  stepped  up  with  Phebe  in  his  hands,  and 
calling  to  a  black  boy  of  his  acquaintance,  who  lived  in  the 
neighbourhood,  and  was  passing  at  the  moment :  "  Here, 
Harrison,"  said  he,  "are  you  going  to  town?"  "Yes,"  re 
plied  the  boy,  "  I  am  going  there  of  an  errand."  Then  take 
this  here  pigeon  with  you,"  said  Bingham,  "  and  give  it  as  a 
gift  from  me  to  your  sister  Louisa.  You  need  not  tell  her  to 
take  good  care  of  it.  I  know  she'll  affection  it  for  my  sake. 
There,  take  it,  and  run."  So  saying,  he  handed  the  pigeon 
over  the  fence  to  the  boy,  who  ran  off"  with  it  immediately,  and 
Bingham  coolly  returned  to  the  kitchen,  whistling  as  he  went. 

"  Well,  if  I  ever  saw  the  like  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Netherby. 
"But  Bingham  will  always  have  his  way  ]  he's  really  a  strange 
fellow."  Then,  looking  foolish  and  subdued,  she  walked  into 
the  house.  I  could  not  help  laughing,  and  was  glad  that  the 
life  of  the  poor  pigeon  had  been  saved  on  any  terms,  though 
sorry  to  find  that  Mrs.  Netherby,  after  all,  had  not  the  re 
deeming  quality  I  ascribed  to  her. 

To  conclude, — I  have  no  doubt  that  summer  establishments 
maybe  found  which  are  in  many  respects  more  agreeable  than 
the  one  I  have  attempted  to  describe.  But  it  has  not  been 
my  good  fortune,  or  that  of  my  friends  who  have  adopted  this 
plan  of  getting  through  the  warm  weather,  to  meet  with  any 
country  lodgings  (of  course,  I  have  no  reference  to  decided 
farm-houses),  in  which  the  comparison  was  not  decidedly  in 
favour  of  the  superior  advantages  of  remaining  in  a  commo 
dious  mansion  in  the  city,  surrounded  with  the  comforts  of 
home,  and  "  with  all  the  appliances,  and  means  to  boot/'  which 
only  a  large  town  can  furui.sh. 


CONSTANCE    ALLERTON; 

OR, 

THE   MOURNING   SUITS. 


"  But  I  have  that  within  which  passeth  show." — SHAKSPEARE. 

MR.  ALLERTON,  a  merchant  of  Philadelphia,  had  for  some 
years  been  doing  business  to  considerable  advantage,  when  a 
sudden  check  was  put  to  his  prosperity  by  the  unexpected 
failure  of  a  house  for  which  he  had  endorsed  to  a  very  large 
amount.  There  was  no  alternative  but  to  surrender  every 
thing  to  his  creditors ;  and  this  he  did  literally  and  consci 
entiously.  He  brought  down  his  mind  to  his  circumstances ; 
and  as,  at  that  juncture,  the  precarious  state  of  the  times  did 
not  authorize  any  hope  of  success  if  he  recommenced  business 
(as  he  might  have  done)  upon  borrowed  capital,  he  gladly 
availed  himself  of  a  vacant  clerkship  in  one  of  the  principal 
banks  of  the  city. 

His  salary,  however,  would  have  been  scarcely  adequate  to 
the  support  of  his  family,  had  he  not  added  something  to  his 
little  stipend  by  employing  his  leisure  hours  in  keeping  the 
books  of  a  merchant.  He  removed  with  his  wife  and  children 
to  a  small  house  in  a  remote  part  of  the  city  ;  and  they  would, 
with  all  his  exertions,  have  been  obliged  to  live  in  the  constant 
exercise  of  the  most  painful  economy,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
aid  they  derived  from  his  sister  Constance  Allerton.  Since 
the  death  of  her  parents,  this  young  lady  had  resided  at  New 
Bedford  with  her  maternal  aunt,  Mrs.  Ilford,  a  quakeress, 
who  left  her  a  legacy  of  ten  thousand  dollars. 

35  (415) 


416  CONSTANCE  ALLERTON. 

After  the  demise  of  her  aunt,  Miss  Allerton  took  lodgings 
at  a  private  house  in  New  Bedford ;  but  on  hearing  of  her 
brother's  misfortunes,  she  wrote  to  know  if  it  would  be  agree 
able  to  him  and  to  his  family  for  her  to  remove  to  Philadelphia, 
and  to  live  with  them — supposing  that  the  sum  she  would  pay 
for  her  accommodation  might,  in  their  present  difficulties, 
prove  a  welcome  addition  to  their  income.  This  proposal  was 
joyfully  acceded  to,  as  Constance  was  much  beloved  by  every 
member  of  her  brother's  family,  and  had  kept  up  a  continual 
intercourse  with  them  by  frequent  letters,  and  by  an  annual 
visit  of  a  few  weeks  to  Philadelphia. 

At  this  period,  Constance  Allerton  had  just  completed  her 
twenty-third  year.  She  had  a  beautiful  face,  a  fine  graceful 
figure,  and  a  highly  cultivated  mind.  "With  warm  feelings 
and  deep  sensibility,  she  possessed  much  energy  of  character 
— a  qualification  which,  when  called  forth  by  circumstances, 
is  often  found  to  be  as  useful  in  a  woman  as  in  a  man.  Af 
fectionate,  generous,  and  totally  devoid  of  all  selfish  considera 
tions,  Constance  had  nothing  so  much  at  heart  as  the  comfort 
and  happiness  of  her  brother's  family ;  and  to  become  an  in 
mate  of  their  house  was  as  gratifying  to  her  as  it  was  to  them. 
She  furnished  her  own  apartment,  and  shared  it  with  little 
Louisa,  the  youngest  of  her  three  nieces,  a  lovely  child  about 
ten  years  old.  She  insisted  on  paying  the  quarter  bills  of 
her  nephew  Frederic  Allerton,  and  volunteered  to  complete 
the  education  of  his  sisters,  who  were  delighted  to  receive 
their  daily  lessons  from  an  instructress  so  kind,  so  sensible, 
and  so  competent.  Exclusive  of  these  arrangements,  she 
bestowed  on  them  many  little  presents,  which  were  always 
well-timed  and  judiciously  selected  ;  though,  to  enable  her  to 
purchase  these  gifts,  she  was  obliged,  with  her  limited  income 
of  six  hundred  dollars,  to  deny  herself  many  gratifications, 
and,  indeed,  conveniences,  to  which  she  had  hitherto  been 
accustomed,  and  the  want  of  which  she  now  passed  over  with 
a  cheerfulness  and  delicacy  which  was  duly  appreciated  by 
the  objects  of  her  kindness. 

In  this  manner  the  family  had  been  living  about  a  twelve 
month,  when  Mr,  Allerton  was  suddenly  attacked  by  a  violent 
and  dangerous  illness,  which  was  soon  accompanied  by  deli 
rium  ;  and  in  a  few  days  it  brought  him  to  the  brink  of  the 
grave. 

Jlis  disease  baffled  the  skill  of  an  excellent  physician ;  and 
the  unremitting  cares  of  his  wife  and  sister  could  only  effect  a 


CONSTANCE  ALLERTON.  417 

slight  alleviation  of  his  Bufferings.  He  expired  on  the  fifth 
day,  without  recovering  his  senses,  and  totally  unconscious  of 
the  presence  of  the  heart-struck  mourners  that  were  weeping 
round  his  bed. 

When  Mr.  Allerton's  last  breath  had  departed,  his  wife  was 
conveyed  from  the  room  in  a  fainting-fit.  Constance  endea 
voured  to  repress  her  own  feelings,  till  she  had  rendered  the 
necessary  assistance  to  Mrs.  Allerton,  and  till  she  had  some 
what  calmed  the  agony  of  the  children.  She  then  retired  to 
her  own  apartment,  and  gave  vent  to  a  burst  of  grief,  such  as 
can  only  be  felt  by  those  in  whose  minds  and  hearts  there  is 
a  union  of  sense  and  sensibility.  A^th  the  weak  and  frivol 
ous,  sorrow  is  rarely  either  acute  or  lasting. 

The  immortal  soul  of  Mr.  Allerton  had  departed  from  its 
earthly  tenement,  and  it  was  now  necessary  to  think  of  the 
painful  details  that  belonged  to  the  disposal  of  his  inanimate 
corpse.  As  soon  as  Constance  could  command  sufficient 
courage  to  allow  her  mind  to  dwell  on  this  subject,  she  went 
down  to  send  a  servant  for  Mr.  Denrnan  (an  old  friend  of  the 
family),  whom  she  knew  Mrs.  Allerton  would  wish  to  take 
charge  of  the  funeral.  At  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  she  met  the 
physician,  who,  by  her  pale  cheeks,  and  by  the  tears  that 
streamed  from  her  eyes  at  sight  of  him,  saw  that  all  was  over. 
He  pressed  her  hand  in  sympathy ;  and,  perceiving  that  she 
was  unable  to  answer  his  questions,  he  bowed  and  left  the 
house. 

In  a  short  time,  Mr.  Denman  arrived ;  and  Mrs.  Allerton 
declaring  herself  incompetent  to  the  task,  Constance  saw  the 
gentleman,  and  requested  him  to  make  every  necessary  ar 
rangement  for  a  plain  but  respectable  funeral. 

At  such  times,  how  every  little  circumstance  seems  to  add 
a  new  pang  to  the  agonized  feelings  of  the  bereaved  family  ! 
The  closing  of  the  window-shutters,  the  arrival  of  the  woman 
whose  gloomy  business  it  is  to  prepare  the  corpse  for  inter 
ment,  the  undertaker  coming  to  take  measure  for  the  coffin, 
the  removal  of  the  bedding  on  which  the  deceased  has  expired, 
the  gliding  step,  the  half-whispered  directions — all  these  sad 
indications  that  death  is  in  the  house,  fail  not,  however  quietly 
and  carefully  managed,  to  reach  the  ears  and  hearts  of  the 
afflicted  relatives,  assisted  by  the  intuitive  knowledge  of 
what  is  so  well  understood  to  be  passing  at  these  melancholy 
moments. 

In  the  evening,  after  Louisa  had  cried  herself  to  sleep,  Con- 


418  CONSTANCE  ALLERTON. 

stance  repaired  to  the  apartment  of  her  sister-in-law,  whom, 
about  an  hour  before,  she  had  left  exhausted  and  passive. 
Mrs.  Allerton  was  extended  on  the  bed,  pale  and  silent;  her 
daughters,  Isabella  and  Helen,  were  in  tears  beside  her ;  and 
Frederick  had  retired  to  his  room. 

In  the  fauteuil,  near  the  head  of  the  bed,  sat  Mrs.  Bladen, 
who,  in  the  days  of  their  prosperity,  had  been  the  next  door 
neighbour  of  the  Allerton  family,  and  who  still  continued  to 
favour  them  with  frequent  visits.  She  was  one  of  those  busy 
people  who  seem  almost  to  verify  the  justly-censured  maxim 
of  Rochefoucault,  that  "  in  the  misfortunes  of  our  best  friends, 
there  is  always  something  which  is  pleasing  to  us." 

True  it  was  that  Mrs.  Bladen,  being  a  woman  of  great  lei 
sure,  and  of  a  disposition  extremely  officious,  devoted  most  of 
her  time  and  attention  to  the  concerns  of  others ;  and  any  cir 
cumstances  that  prevented  her  associates  from  acting  imme 
diately  for  themselves,  of  course  threw  open  a  wider  field  for 
her  interference. 

"  And  now,  my  dear  friends,"  said  Mrs.  Bladen,  squeezing 
Mrs.  Allerton's  hand,  and  looking  at  Constance,  who  seated 
herself  in  an  opposite  chair,  "  as  the  funeral  is  to  take  place 
on  Thursday,  you  know  there  is  no  time  to  be  lost.  What 
have  you  fixed  on  respecting  your  mourning  ?  I  will  cheer 
fully  attend  to  it  for  you,  and  bespeak  everything  necessary." 

At  the  words  "  funeral"  and  "  mourning,"  tears  gushed 
again  from  the  eyes  of  the  distressed  family ;  and  neither  Mrs. 
Allerton  nor  Constance  could  command  themselves  sufficiently 
to  reply. 

"  Come,  my  dear  creatures,"  continued  Mrs.  Bladen,  "  you 
must  really  make  an  effort  to  compose  yourselves.  Just  try 
to  be  calm  for  a  few  minutes,  till  we  have  settled  this  busi 
ness.  Tell  me  what  I  shall  order  for  you.  However,  there 
is  but  one  rule  on  these  occasions — crape  and  bombazine,  and 
everything  of  the  best.  Nothing,  you  know,  is  more  disre 
putable  than  mean  mourning." 

"  I  fear,  then,"  replied  Mrs.  Allerton,  "  that  our  mourning 
attire  must  be  mean  enough.  The  situation  in  which  we  are 
left  will  not  allow  us  to  go  to  any  unnecessary  expense  in 
that,  or  in  anything  else.  We  had  but  little  to  live  upon — 
we  could  lay  by  nothing.  We  have  nothing  beforehand  :  we 
did  not — we  could  not  apprehend  that  this  dreadful  event  was 
so  near.  And  you  know  that  his  salary — that  Mr.  Allerton's 
salary — of  course,  expires  with  him." 


CONSTANCE   ALLERTON.  41 

"  So  I  suppose,  my  dear  friend,"  answered  Mrs.  Bladen ; 
*c  but  you  know  you  must  have  mourning  ;  and  as  the  funeral 
takes  place  so  soon,  there  will  be  little  enough  time  to  order 
it  and  have  it  made." 

"  We  will  borrow  dresses  to  wear  at  the — to  wear  on  Thurs 
day,"  said  Mrs.  Allerton. 

"  And  of  whom  will  you  borrow  ?" 

<(  I  do  not  know.     I  have  not  yet  thought." 

"  The  Liscom  family  are  in  black,"  observed  Isabella ;  "  no 
doubt  they  would  lend  us  dresses." 

"  Oh !  none  of  their  things  will  fit  you  at  all,"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Bladen.  "  None  of  the  Liscoms  have  the  least  resem 
blance  to  any  of  you,  either  in  height  or  figurei  You  would 
look  perfectly  ridiculous  in  their  things." 

"  Then  there  are  Mrs.  Patterson  and  her  daughters,"  said 
Helen. 

"  The  Pattersons,"  replied  Mrs.  Bladen,  "  are  just  going 
to  leave  off  black ;  and  nothing  that  they  have  looks  either 
new  or  fresh.  You  know  how  soon  black  becomes  rusty. 
You  certainly  would  feel  very  much  mortified  if  you  had  to 
make  a  shabby  appearance  at  Mr.  Allerton' s  funeral.  Besides, 
nobody  now  wears  borrowed  mourning — it  can  always  be  de 
tected  in  a  moment.  No — with  a  little  exertion — and  I  repeat 
that  I  am  willing  to  do  all  in  my  power — there  is  time  enough 
to  provide  the  whole  family  with  genteel  and  proper  mourning 
suits.  And  as  you  must  get  them  at  last,  it  is  certainly  much 
better  to  have  them  at  first,  so  as  to  appear  handsomely  at  tho 
funeral." 

"  Oh  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Allerton,  sighing,  "  at  such  a  time, 
what  consequence  can  we  possibly  attach  to  our  external  ap 
pearance  ?  How  can  we  for  a  moment  think  of  it  ?" 

"  To  be  sure,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Mrs.  Bladen,  kissing 
her,  "  you  have  had  a  very  severe  loss — very  severe,  indeed. 
It  is  really  quite  irreparable ;  and  I  can  sincerely  sympathize 
in  your  feelings.  Certainly  everybody  ought  to  feel  on  these 
occasions ;  but  you  know  it  is  impossible  to  devote  every  mo 
ment  between  this  and  the  funeral  to  tears  and  sobs.  One 
cannot  be  crying  all  the  time — nobody  ever  does.  And,  as  to 
the  mourning,  that  is  of  course  indispensable,  and  a  thing 
that  must  be." 

Mrs.  Allerton  wept  bitterly.  "  Indeed,  indeed  !"  said  she, 
"  I  cannot  discuss  it  now." 

"  And  if  it  is  not  settled  to-night,"  resumed  Mrs.  Bladen, 
35* 


420  CONSTANCE  ALLERTON. 

"  there  will  be  hardly  time  to-morrow  to  talk  it  over,  and  get 
the  things,  and  send  to  the  mantuamaker's  and  milliner's. 
You  had  better  get  it  off  your  mind  at  once.  Suppose  you 
leave  it  entirely  to  me.  I  attended  to  all  the  mourning  for 
the  Liscoms,  and  the  Weldons,  and  the  Nortons.  It  is  a  busi 
ness  I  am  quite  used  to.  I  pique  myself  on  being  rather 
clever  at  it." 

"  I  will,  then,  trust  to  your  judgment,"  replied  Mrs.  Aller- 
ton,  anxious  to  get  rid  of  the  subject,  and  of  the  light  frivolous 
prattle  of  her  soi-disant  dear  friend.  "  Be  kind  enough  to 
undertake  it,  and  procure  for  us  whatever  you  think  suitable 
— only  let  it  not  be  too  expensive." 

"  As  to  that,"  answered  Mrs.  Bladen,  <{  crape  is  crape,  and 
bombazine  is  bombazine  ;  and  as  everybody  likes  to  have  these 
articles  of  good  quality,  nothing  otherwise  is  now  imported  for 
mourning.  "With  regard  to  Frederick's  black  suit,  Mr.  Wat 
son  will  send  to  take  his  measure,  and  there  will  be  no  further 
difficulty  about  it.  Let  me  see — there  must  be  bombazine 
for  five  dresses :  that  is,  for  yourself,  three  daughters,  and 
Miss  Allerton." 

"  Not  for  me,"  said  Constance,  taking  her  handkerchief 
from  her  eyes.  "  I  shall  not  get  a  bombazine." 

"  My  dear  creature !"  cried  Mrs.  Bladen ;  "  not  get  a  bom 
bazine  !  You  astonish  me  !  What  else  can  you  possibly 
have  ?  Black  gingham  or  black  chintz  is  only  fit  for  wrappers ; 
and  black  silk  is  no  mourning  at  all." 

"  I  shall  wear  no  mourning,"  replied  Constance,  with  a 
deep  sigh. 

"  Not  wear  mourning  !"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Bladen.  "  What, 
no  mourning  at  all !  Not  wear  mourning  for  your  own  bro 
ther  !  Now  you  do  indeed  surprise  me." 

Mrs.  Allerton  and  her  daughters  were  also  surprised ;  and 
they  withdrew  their  handkerchiefs  from  their  eyes,  and  gazed 
on  Constance,  as  if  scarcely  believing  that  they  had  understood 
her  rightly. 

"  I  have  considered  it  well,"  resumed  Miss  Allerton ;  "  and 
I  have  come  to  a  conclusion  to  make  no  change  in  my  dress. 
In  short,  to  wear  no  mourning,  even  for  my  brother — well  as 
I  have  loved  him,  and  deeply  as  I  feel  his  loss." 

"  This  is  very  strange,"  said  Mrs.  Allerton. 

"  Excuse  me,  Miss  Constance,"  said  Mrs.  Bladen,  "  but 
have  you  no  respect  for  his  memory  ?  He  was  certainly  an 
excellent  man." 


CONSTANCE  ALLERTON.  421 

"  Respect  for  his  memory  I"  exclaimed  Constance,  bursting 
into  tears.  "  Yes  !  I  indeed  respect  his  memory  !  And  were 
he  still  living,  there  is  nothing  on  earth  I  would  not  cheer 
fully  do  for  him,  if  I  thought  it  would  contribute  to  his 
happiness  or  comfort.  But  he  is  now  in  a  land  where  all  the 
forms  and  ceremonies  of  this  world  are  of  no  avail ;  and  where 
everything  that  speaks  to  the  senses  only,  must  appear  like 
the  mimic  trappings  of  a  theatre.  With  him,  all  is  now  awful 
reality.  To  the  decaying  inhabitant  of  the  narrow  and  gloomy 
grave,  or  to  the  disembodied  spirit  that  has  ascended  to  its 
Father  in  heaven,  of  what  consequence  is  the  colour  that  dis 
tinguishes  the  dress  of  those  whose  mourning  is  deep  in  the 
heart  ?  What  to  him  is  the  livery  that  fashion  has  assigned 
to  grief,  when  he  knows  how  intense  is  the  feeling  itself,  in 
the  sorrowing  bosoms  of  the  family  that  loved  him  so  well  ?" 

"  All  this  is  very  true,"  remarked  Mrs.  Bladen;  "but  still, 
custom  is  everything,  or  fashion,  as  you  are  pleased  to  call  it. 
You  know  you  are  not  a  Quaker ;  and  therefore  I  do  not  see 
how  you  can  possibly  venture  to  go  without  mourning  on  such 
an  occasion  as  this.  Surely,  you  would  not  set  the  usages  of 
the  world  at  defiance  1" 

"I  would  not,"  replied  Constance,  "in  things  of  minor  im 
portance  ;  but  on  this  subject  I  believe  I  can  be  firm." 

"Of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Bladen,  "you  will  not  go  to  the 
funeral  without  mourning." 

"  I  cannot  go  to  the  funeral  at  all,"  answered  Constance. 

"  Not  go  to  the  funeral !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Allerton.  "  Dear 
Constance,  you  amaze  me  !" 

"I  hope,"  observed  Mrs.  Bladen,  looking  very  serious, 
"there  can  be  no  reason  to  doubt  Miss  Allerton's  affection  for 
her  brother  ?" 

"  Oh  !  no  !  no  !  no  !"  cried  the  two  girls  indignantly.  "  If 
you  had  only  seen,"  said  Isabella,  "  how  she  nursed  niy  dear 
father  in  his  illness — how  she  was  with  him  day  and  night." 

"  And  how  much  she  always  loved  him,"  said  Helen. 

"  My  dear  kind  sister,"  said  Mrs.  Allerton,  taking  the  hand 
of  Constance,  "  I  hope  I  shall  never  again  see  you  distressed 
by  such  an  intimation." 

Mrs.  Bladen  reddened,  looked  down,  and  attentively  exa 
mined  the  embroidered  corners  of  her  pocket  handkerchief. 
There  was  a  silence  of  a  few  moments,  till  Constance,  making 
an  effort  to  speak  with  composure,  proceeded  to  explain 
herself. 


422  CONSTANCE    ALLERTON. 

"  My  brother,"  said  she,  "  has  finished  his  mortal  existence. 
No  human  power,  no  human  love,  can  aid  him  or  soothe  him 
now ;  and  we  will  endeavour  to  submit  with  resignation  to  the 
will  of  Omnipotence.  I  hope — I  trust  we  shall  be  able  to  do  so  ; 
but  the  shock  is  yet  too  recent,  and  we  cannot  at  once  subdue 
the  feelings  of  nature.  It  is  dreadful  to  see  the  lifeless  re 
mains  of  one  we  have  long  and  dearly  loved,  removed  from 
our  sight  for  ever,  and  consigned  to  the  darkness  and  loneli 
ness  of  the  grave.  For  my  part,  on  this  sad  occasion  I  feel 
an  utter  repugnance  to  the  idea  of  becoming  an  object  of  curi 
osity  to  the  spectators  that  gaze  from  the  windows,  and  to  the 
vulgar  and  noisy  crowd  that  assembles  about  a  burying-ground 
when  an  interment  is  to  take  place.  I  cannot  expose  my  tears, 
my  deep  affliction,  to  the  comments  of  the  multitude ;  and  I 
cannot  have  my  feelings  outraged  by  perhaps  overhearing 
their  coarse  remarks.  I  may  be  too  fastidious — I  may  be  wrong ; 
but  to  be  present  at  the  funeral  of  my  brother  is  an  effort  I 
cannot  resolve  to  make.  And,  moreover — " 

Here  her  voice  for  a  few  moments  became  inarticulate,  and 
her  sister  and  nieces  sobbed  audibly. 

"And  then/'  she  continued,  "I  cannot  stand  beside  that 
open  grave — I  cannot  see  the  coffin  let  down  into  it,  and  the 
earth  thrown  upon  the  lid  till  it  is  covered  up  for  ever.  I 
cannot — indeed  I  cannot.  In  the  seclusion  of  my  own  apart 
ment  I  shall,  of  course,  know  that  all  this  is  going  on,  and  I 
shall  suffer  most  acutely ;  but  there  will  be  no  strangers  to 
witness  my  sufferings.  It  is  a  dreadful  custom,  that  of  fe 
males  attending  the  funerals  of  their  nearest  relatives.  I 
wish  it  were  abolished  throughout  our  country,  as  it  is  in  many 
parts  of  Europe/' 

"But  you  know,"  said  Mrs.  Bladen,  "that  it  is  almost 
universal  in  Philadelphia ;  and,  '  when  we  are  in  Rome  we 
must  do  as  Rome  does/  Besides  which,  it  is  certainly  our 
duty  always  to  see  our  friends  and  relatives  laid  in  the  grave/' 

"  Not  when  we  are  assured,"  replied  Constance,  "  that  the 
melancholy  office  can  be  properly  performed  without  our  pre 
sence  or  assistance.  Duty  requires  of  us  no  sacrifice  by  which 
neither  the  living  nor  the  dead  can  be  benefited.  But  I  have 
said  enough ;  and  I  cannot  be  present  at  my  brother's  fune 
ral." 

She  then  rose  and  left  the  room,  unable  any  longer  to  sus 
tain  a  conversation  so  painful  to  her. 

"  Well,  I  am  really  astonished  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bladerv 


CONSTANCE  ALLERTON.  423 

t(  Not  wear  mourning  for  her  brother  !  Not  go  to  his  funeral ! 
However,  I  suppose  she  thinks  she  has  a  right  to  do  as  she 
pleases.  But,  she  may  depend  on  it,  people  will  talk." 

Just  then  a  servant  came  to  inform  Mrs.  Bladen  that  her 
husband  was  waiting  for  her  in  the  parlour. 

"  Well,  my  dear  Mrs.  Allerton,"  said  she,  as  she  rose  to 
depart,  "  we  have  not  yet  settled  about  the  mourning.  Of 
course,  you  are  not  going  to  adopt  Miss  Constance's  strange 
whim  of  wearing  none  at  all." 

"  What  she  has  said  on  the  subject  appears  to  me  very  just," 
replied  Mrs.  Allerton. 

"  Aunt  Constance  is  always  right,"  remarked  one  of  the 
girls. 

"  As  to  Miss  Allerton,"  resumed  Mrs.  Bladen,  "  she  is  well 
known  to  be  independent  in  every  sense  of  the  word;  and 
therefore  she  may  do  as  she  pleases — though  she  may  rest 
assured  that  people  will  talk." 

"  What  people  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Allerton. 

"  Everybody — all  the  world." 

Mrs.  Allerton  thought  how  very  circumscribed  was  the 
world  in  which  she  and  her  family  had  lived  since  the  date  of 
their  fallen  fortunes. 

"  It  is  well  known,"  pursued  Mrs.  Bladen,  "  that  Miss 
Constance  is  able  to  wear  mourning  if  she  chooses  it.  But 
you  may  rely  on  it,  Mrs.  Allerton,  that  if  you  and  your  child 
ren  do  not  appear  in  black,  people  will  be  ill-natured  enough 
to  say  that  it  is  because  you  cannot  afford  it.  Excuse  my 
plainness." 

"  They  will  say  rightly,  then,"  replied  Mrs.  Allerton,  with 
a  sigh.  "  We  certainly  cannot  afford  it." 

"  How  you  talk  !"  said  Mrs.  Bladen.  "  Afford  it  or  not, 
everybody  has  to  wear  mourning,  and  everybody  does,  from 
the  highest  down  to  the  lowest.  Even  my  washerwoman  put 
all  her  family  (that  is  herself  and  her  six  children)  into  black 
when  her  husband  died  ;  notwithstanding  that  he  was  no  great 
loss — for  he  was  an  idle,  drunken  Irishman,  and  beat  them 
all  round  every  day  of  his  life.  And  my  cook,  a  coloured 
woman,  whose  grandfather  died  in  the  almshouse  a  few  weeks 
ago,  has  as  handsome  a  suit  of  mourning  as  any  lady  need 
desire  to  wear." 

"  May  1  request,"  said  Mrs.  Allerton,  "  that  you  will  spare 
me  on  this  subject  to-night  ?  Indeed  I  can  neither  think  nor 
talk  about  it." 


424  CONSTANCE  ALLERTON. 

"  Well,  then,"  replied  Mrs.  Bladen,  kissing  her,  "  I  will 
hope  to  find  you  better  in  the  morning.  I  shall  be  with  you 
immediately  after  breakfast." 

She  then  took  her  leave ;  and  Constance,  who  had  been 
•weeping  over  the  corpse  of  Mr.  Allerton,  now  returned  to  the 
apartment  of  her  sister-in-law. 

Released  from  the  importunities  of  Mrs.  Bladen,  our  hero 
ine  now  mildly  and  sensibly  reasoned  with  the  family  on  the 
great  inconvenience,  and,  as  she  believed,  the  unnecessary  ex 
pense  of  furnishing  themselves  with  suits  of  mourning  in  their 
present  circumstances.  The  season  was  late  in  the  autumn, 
and  they  had  recently  supplied  themselves  with  their  winter 
outfit,  all  of  which  would  now  be  rendered  useless  if  black 
must  be  substituted.  Her  arguments  had  so  much  effect  that 
Mrs.  Allerton,  with  the  concurrence  of  her  daughters,  very 
nearly  promised  to  give  up  all  intention  of  making  a  general 
change  in  their  dress.  But  they  found  it  harder  than  they 
had  supposed,  to  free  themselves  from  the  trammels  of  custom. 

Mrs.  Allerton  and  Constance  passed  a  sleepless  night,  and 
the  children  "  awoke  to  weep"  at  an  early  hour  in  the  morn 
ing.  They  all  met  in  tears  at  the  breakfast  table.  Little  was 
eaten,  and  the  table  was  scarcely  cleared,  when  Mrs.  Bladen 
came  in,  followed  by  two  shop  boys,  one  carrying  two  rolls  of 
bombazine,  and  the  other  two  boxes  of  Italian  crape.  Con 
stance  had  just  left  the  room. 

After  the  first  salutations  were  over,  Mrs.  Bladen  informed 
Mrs.  Allerton  that  she  had  breakfasted  an  hour  earlier  than 
usual,  that  she  might  allow  herself  more  time  to  go  out,  and 
transact  the  business  of  the  morning. 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  she,  "  Mrs.  Doubleprice  has  sent 
you,  at  my  request,  two  pieces  of  bombazine,  that  you  may 
choose  for  yourself. — One  is  more  of  a  jet  black  than  the 
other — but  I  think  the  blue  black  rather  the  finest.  However, 
they  are  both  of  superb  quality,  and  this  season  jet  mack  is 
rather  the  most  fashionable.  I  have  been  to  Miss  Facings, 
the  mantuamaker,  who  is  famous  for  mourning.  Bombazines, 
when  made  up  by  her,  have  an  air  and  a  style  about  them, 
such  as  you  will  never  see  if  done  by  any  one  else.  There  is 
nothing  more  difficult  than  to  make  up  mourning  as  it  ought 
to  be. — I  have  appointed  Miss  Facings  to  meet  me  here — I 
wonder  she  has  not  arrived — she  can  tell  you  how  much  is 
necessary  for  the  four  dresses.  If  Miss  Allerton  finally  con 
cludes  to  be  like  other  people  and  put  on  black,  I  suppose  she 


CONSTANCE  ALLERTON.  425 

will  attend  to  it  herself.     These  very  sensible  young  ladies 
are  beyond  my  comprehension." 

"  I  am  sure/'  said  Helen,  (<  no  one  is  more  easy  to  under 
stand,  than  my  dear  Aunt  Constance." 

"  And  here,"  continued  Mrs.  Bladen,  "  is  the  double-width 
crape  for  the  veils.  As  it  is  of  very  superior  quality,  you  had 
best  have  it  to  trim  the  dresses,  and  for  the  neck  handker 
chiefs,  and  to  border  the  black  cloth  shawls  that  you  will  have 
to  get." 

We  must  remark  to  our  readers,  that  at  the  period  of  our 
story,  it  was  customary  to  trim  mourning  dresses  with  a  very 
broad  fold  of  crape,  reaching  nearly  from  the  feet  to  the 
knees. 

Mrs.  Allerton  on  hearing  the  prices  of  the  crape  and  bom 
bazine,  declared  them  too  expensive. 

"But  only  look  at  the  quality,"  persisted  Mrs.  Bladen, 
"  and  you  know  the  best  things  are  always  the  cheapest  in 
the  end — and,  as  I  told  you,  nobody  now  wears  economical 
mourning." 

"We  had  best  wear  none  of  any  description,"  said  Mrs. 
Allerton. 

"Ah !"  cried  Mrs.  Bladen,  "I  see  that  Miss  Constance  has 
been  trying  again  to  make  a  convert  of  you.  Yet,  as  you  are 
not  Quakers,  I  know  not  how  you  will  be  able  to  show  your 
faces  in  the  world,  if  you  do  not  put  on  black.  Excuse  me, 
but  innovations  on  established  customs  ought  only  to  be  at 
tempted  by  people  of  note — by  persons  so  far  up  in  society 
that  they  may  feel  at  liberty  to  do  any  out-of-the-way  thing 
with  impunity." 

"  I  wish,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Allerton,  "  that  some  of  those 
influential  persons  would  be  so  public-spirited  as  to  set  the 
example  of  dispensing  with  all  customs  that  bear  hard  on 
people  in  narrow  circumstances." 

The  mantuamaker  now  made  her  appearance,  and  Mrs. 
Bladen  exclaimed,  "  Oh  !  Miss  Facings,  we  have  been  waiting 
for  you  to  tell  us  exactly  how  much  of  everything  we  are  to 
get." 

A  long  and  earnest  discussion  now  took  place  between  Mrs. 
Bladen  and  the  dressmaker,  respecting  the  quality  and 
quantity  of  the  bombazine  and  crape. 

Miss  Facings  having  calculated  the  number  of  yards,  Mrs. 
Bladen  inquired  if  there  was  no  yard-rneasure  in  the  house. 
One  was  produced,  and  the  measuring  commenced  forthwith  j 


426  CONSTANCE  ALLERTON. 

Mrs.  Allerton  having  no  longer  energy  to  offer  any  further 
opposition.  She  sat  with  her  handkerchief  to  her  face,  and 
her  daughters  wept  also.  Mrs.  Bladen  stepped  up  to  her,  and 
whispered,  "  You  are  aware  that  it  will  not  be  necessary  to 
pay  the  bills  immediately." 

"  Ah  !"  returned  Mrs.  Allerton,  "  I  know  not  when  they 
can  be  paid.  But  we  will  strain  every  nerve  to  do  it  as  soon 
as  possible.  I  cannot  bear  the  idea  of  remaining  in  debt  for 
this  mourning." 

Their  business  being  accomplished,  the  shop-boys  departed, 
and  Miss  Facings  made  her  preparations  for  cutting  out  the 
dresses,  taking  an  opportunity  of  assuring  the  weeping  girls 
that  nothing  was  more  becoming  to  the  figure  than  black 
bombazine,  and  that  everybody  looked  their  best  in  a  new  suit 
of  mourning. 

At  this  juncture,  Constance  returned  to  the  room,  and  was 
extremely  sorry  to  find  that  the  fear  of  singularity,  and  the 
officious  perseverance  of  Mrs.  Bladen,  had  superseded  the 
better  sense  of  her  sister-in-law.  But  as  the  evil  was  now 
past  remedy,  our  heroine,  according  to  her  usual  practice,  re 
frained  from  any  further  animadversions  on  the  subject. 

Little  Louisa  was  now  brought  in  to  be  fitted  :  and  when 
her  frock  was  cut  out,  Constance  offered  to  make  it  herself,  on 
hearing  Miss  Facings  declare  that  she  would  be  obliged  to 
keep  her  girls  up  all  night  to  complete  the  dresses  by  the  ap 
pointed  time,  as  they  had  already  more  work  in  the  house 
than  they  could  possibly  accomplish. 

Mrs.  Allerton  expressed  great  unwillingness  to  allowing 
her  sister-in-law  to  take  the  trouble  of  making  Louisa's  dress. 
But  Constance  whispered  to  her  that  she  had  always  found 
occupation  to  be  one  of  the  best  medicines  for  an  afflicted 
mind,  and  that  it  would  in  some  degree  prevent  her  thoughts 
from  dwelling  incessantly  on  the  same  melancholy  subject. 
Taking  Louisa  with  her,  she  retired  to  her  own  apartment, 
and  the  frock  was  completed  by  next  day  :  though  the  over 
flowing  eyes  of  poor  Constance  frequently  obliged  her  to  lay 
down  her  sewing.  In  reality,  her  chief  motive  in  proposing 
to  make  the  dress,  was  to  save  the  expense  of  having  it  done 
by  the  mantuamaker. 

Miss  Facings  took  Mrs.  Allerton's  gown  home  with  her, 
saying  she  would  send  one  of  her  girls  for  the  two  others ; 
and  Mrs.  Bladen  then  began  to  plan  the  bonnets  and  shawls. 
She  went  off  to  a  fashionable  milliner,  and  engaged  a  mourn 


CONSTANCE  ALLERTON.  427 

ing  bonnet  and  four  mourning  caps  for  Mrs.  Allerton,  and  a 
bonnet  for  each  of  her  daughters.  And  she  was  going  back 
and  forwards  nearly  all  day  with  specimens  of  black  cloth  for 
the  shawls,  black  stockings,  black  gloves,  &c. 

The  girls,  at  their  aunt's  suggestion,  hemmed  the  crape 
veils,  and  on  the  following  morning,  she  assisted  them  in 
making  and  trimming  the  shawls.  Still,  Constance  was  well 
convinced  that  the  expense  of  the  mourning  (including  the 
suit  bespoken  for  Frederick)  would  be  greater  than  they  could 
possibly  afford.  The  cost  of  the  funeral  she  intended  to  de 
fray  from  her  own  funds,  and  she  took  occasion  to  request 
Mr.  Denman  to  have  nothing  about  it  that  should  be  unne 
cessarily  expensive. 

The  hour  arrived  when  the  sorrowing  family  of  Mr.  Allerton 
were  to  be  parted  for  ever  from  all  that  remained  of  the  hus 
band,  the  father,  and  the  brother.  They  had  taken  the  last  look 
of  his  fixed  and  lifeless  features,  they  had  imprinted  the  last 
kiss  on  his  cold  and  pallid  lips ;  and  from  the  chamber  of  death, 
they  had  to  adjourn  to  the  incongruous  task  of  attiring  them 
selves  in  their  mourning  habits  to  appear  at  his  funeral.  How 
bitterly  they  wept  as  their  friends  assisted  them  in  putting  on 
their  new  dresses ;  and  when  they  tied  on  their  bonnets  and 
their  long  veils,  to  follow  to  his  grave  the  object  of  their 
fondest  affection  ! 

Constance,  with  an  almost  breaking  heart,  sat  in  her  cham 
ber,  and  little  Louisa  hung  crying  on  her  shoulder,  declaring 
that  she  could  not  see  her  dear  father  buried.  But  Mrs.  Bla- 
den  came  in,  protesting  that  all  the  children  must  be  present, 
and  that  people  would  talk  if  even  the  youngest  child  was  to 
stay  away.  Mrs.  Bladen  then  put  on  Louisa's  mourning  dress 
almost  by  force.  When  this  was  done,  the  little  girl  threw 
her  arms  round  the  neck  of  her  aunt  and  kissed  her,  saying 
with  a  burst  of  tears,  "  When  I  see  you  again,  my  dear  dear 
father  will  be  covered  up  in  his  grave."  Mrs.  Bladen  then 
led,  or  rather  dragged  the  child  to  the  room  in  which  the 
family  were  assembled. 

Constance  threw  herself  on  her  bed  in  a  paroxysm  of  grief. 
She  heard  the  slow  tread  of  the  company  as  they  came  in,  and 
she  fancied  that  she  could  distinguish  the  sound  of  the  lid  as 
it  was  laid  on  the  coffin,  and  the  fastening  of  the  screws  that 
closed  it  for  ever.  She  knew  when  it  was  carried  down  stairs, 
and  she  listened  in  sympathetic  agony  to  the  sobs  of  the  family 
as  they  descended  after  it.  She  heard  the  shutting  of  the 
36 


428  CONSTANCE  ALLERTON. 

hearse-door,  and  the  gloomy  vehicle  slowly  rolling  off  to  give 
place  to  the  carriages  of  the  mourners.  She  started  up,  and 
casting  her  eyes  towards  an  opening  in  the  window-curtain, 
she  saw  Mr.  Denman  supporting  to  the  first  coach  the  tottering 
steps  of  her  half-fainting  sister-in-law.  She  looked  no  longer, 
but  sunk  back  on  the  bed  and  hid  her  face  on  the  pillow.  By 
all  that  she  suffered  when  indulging  her  grief  alone  and  in  the 
retirement  of  her  chamber,  she  felt  how  dreadful  it  would  have 
been  to  her,  had  she  accompanied  the  corpse  of  her  brother  to 
its  final  resting-place. 

In  about  an  hour  the  family  returned,  pale,  exhausted,  and 
worn  out  with  the  intensity  of  their  feelings  at  the  grave. 
And  they  could  well  have  dispensed  with  the  company  of  Mrs. 
Bladen,  who  came  home  and  passed  the  evening  with  them ; 
as  she  foolishly  said  that  people  in  affliction  ought  not  to  be 
left  to  themselves. 

After  some  days  the  violence  of  their  grief  settled  into  me 
lancholy  sadness  :  they  ceased  to  speak  of  him  whom  they  had 
loved  and  lost,  and  they  felt  as  if  they  could  never  talk  of  him 
again. 

The  unfortunate  family  of  Mr.  Allerton  now  began  to  con 
sider  what  they  should  do  for  their  support.  Constance  was 
willing  to  share  with  them  her  little  income  even  to  the  last 
farthing,  but  it  was  too  small  to  enable  them  all  to  live  on  it 
with  comfort.  Great  indeed  are  the  sufferings,  the  unacknow 
ledged  and  unimagined  sufferings  of  that  class  who  "  cannot 
dig,  and  to  beg  are  ashamed" — whose  children  have  been  nursed 
in  the  lap  of  affluence,  and  who  "  every  night  have  slept  with 
soft  content  about  their  heads" — who  still  retain  a  vivid  re 
collection  of  happier  times,  and  who  still  feel  that  they  them 
selves  are  the  same,  though  all  is  changed  around  them. 

Such  was  the  condition  of  the  Allerton  family.  "The 
world  was  all  before  them  where  to  choose,"  and  so  low 
were  now  their  finances,  that  it  was  necessary  they  should 
think  and  act  promptly,  and  decide  at  once  upon  some  plan 
for  their  subsistence.  Constance  proposed  a  school,  but  the 
house  they  now  occupied  was  in  too  remote  a  place  to  expect 
any  success.  A  lady  had  already  attempted  establishing  a 
seminary  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood,  but  it  had  proved 
an  entire  failure.  Mrs.  Allerton  thought  that  in  a  better  part 
of  the  town,  and  in  a  larger  house,  they  might  have  a  fair 
chance  of  encouragement.  But  they  were  now  destitute  of  the 
means  of  defraying  the  expense  of  a  removal,  and  of  pur- 


CONSTANCE  ALLERTON.  429 

chasing  such  articles  of  furniture  as  would  be  indispensably 
necessary  in  a  more  commodious  dwelling ;  particularly  if  fitted 
up  as  a  school. 

Frederick  Allerton,  who  was  twelve  years  old,  had  just  com 
pleted  his  last  quarter  at  the  excellent  academy  in  which  he 
had  been  a  pupil  from  early  childhood,  and  it  was  now  found 
necessary,  after  paying  the  bill,  to  take  him  away;  as  the 
present  situation  of  the  family  did  not  seem  to  warrant  them 
in  continuing  him  there  any  longer.  He  was,  however,  very 
forward  in  all  his  acquirements,  having  an  excellent  capacity, 
aud  being  extremely  diligent.  Still  it  was  hard  that  so  pro 
mising  a  boy  should  be  obliged  to  stop  short,  when  in  a  fair 
way  of  becoming  an  extraordinary  proficient  in  the  principal 
branches  appertaining  to  what  is  considered  an  excellent  edu 
cation.  Fortunately,  however,  a  place  was  obtained  for  him 
in  a  highly  respectable  book-store. 

There  was  now  a  general  retrenchment  in  the  expenditures 
of  the  Allerton  family.  One  of  their  servants  was  discharged, 
as  they  could  no  longer  afford  to  keep  two — and  they  were 
obliged  to  endure  many  privations  which  were  but  ill  compen 
sated  by  the  idea  that  they  were  wearing  very  genteel  mourn 
ing.  Again,  as  they  had  begun  with  black,  it  was  necessary 
to  go  through  with  it.  They  could  not  wear  their  bombazines 
continually,  and  as  black  ginghams  and  chintzes  are  always 
spoiled  by  washing,  it  was  thought  better  that  their  common 
dresses  should  be  of  Canton  crape,  an  article  that,  though  very 
durable,  is  at  first  of  no  trifling  cost. 

In  the  mean  time,  their  only  resource  seemed  to  be  that  of 
literally  supporting  themselves  by  the  work  of  their  hands. 
Constance  undertook  the  painful  task  of  going  round  among 
their  acquaintances,  and  announcing  their  readiness  to  under 
take  any  sort  of  needle-work  that  was  offered  to  them.  Nobody 
had  any  work  to  put  out  just  then.  Some  promised  not  to 
forget  them  when  they  had.  Others  said  they  were  already 
suited  with  seamstresses.  At  this  time  the  Ladies'  Depository 
was  not  in  existence ;  that  excellent  establishment,  where  the 
feelings  of  the  industrious  indigent  who  have  seen  better  days 
are  so  delicately  spared  by  the  secrecy  with  which  its  opera 
tions  are  conducted. 

At  length  a  piece  of  linen  was  sent  to  the  Allerton  family 
for  the  purpose  of  being  made  up  by  them  into  shirts.  And 
so  great  was  their  joy  at  the  prospect  of  getting  a  little  money, 
that  it  almost  absorbed  the  painful  feelings  with  which  for  tho 


430  CONSTANCE  ALLERTON. 

first  time  they  employed  their  needles  in  really  working  for 
their  living. 

They  all  sewed  assiduously,  little  Louisa  doing  the  easiest 
parts.  The  linen  was  soon  made  up,  and  they  then  obtained 
another  piece,  and  afterwards  some  muslin  work.  Constance, 
who  was  one  of  the  most  indefatigable  of  women,  found  time 
occasionally  to  copy  music,  and  correct  proof-sheets,  and  to  do 
many  other  things  by  which  she  was  able  to  add  a  little  more  to 
the  general  fund.  For  a  short  time,  her  not  appearing  in 
black  excited  much  conversation  among  the  acquaintances  of 
the  family :  but  these  discussions  soon  subsided,  and  after  a 
while  nothing  more  was  said  or  thought  on  the  subject. 

But  to  pay  for  the  mourning  of  Mrs.  Allerton  and  her 
children  was  a  necessity  that  pressed  heavily  on  them  all,  and 
they  dreaded  the  sound  of  the  door-bell,  lest  it  should  be  fol 
lowed  by  the  presentation  of  the  bills.  The  bills  came,  and 
were  found  to  be  considerably  larger  than  was  anticipated. 
Yet  they  were  paid  in  the  course  of  the  winter,  though  with 
much  difficulty,  and  at  the  expense  of  much  comfort.  The 
unfortunate  Allertons  rose  early  and  sat  up  late,  kept  scanty 
fires  and  a  very  humble  table,  and  rarely  went  out  of  the 
house,  except  to  church,  or  to  take  a  little  air  and  exercise  at 
the  close  of  the  afternoon. 

Most  of  their  friends  dropped  off,  and  the  few  that  seemed 
disposed  to  continue  their  acquaintance  with  people  whose 
extreme  indigence  was  no  secret,  were  so  thoughtless  as  to 
make  their  visits  in  the  morning,  a  time  which  is  never  con 
venient  to  families  that  cannot  afford  to  be  idle.  Mrs.  Bladen, 
who,  though  frivolous  and  inconsiderate,  was  really  a  good- 
natured  woman,  came  frequently  to  see  them ;  and  another 
of  their  visiters  was  Mrs.  Craycroft,  whose  chief  incentive 
was  curiosity  to  see  how  the  Allertons  were  going  on,  and  a 
love  of  dictation  which  induced  her  frequently  to  favour  them 
with  what  she  considered  salutary  counsel.  Mrs.  Craycroft 
was  a  hard,  cold,  heartless  woman,  who  by  dint  of  the  closest 
economy  had  helped  her  husband  to  amass  a  large  fortune, 
and  they  now  had  every  sort  of  luxury  at  their  command. 
The  Craycrofts  as  well  as  the  Bladens  had  formerly  been 
neighbours  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Allerton. 

Mrs.  Bladen  and  Mrs.  Craycroft  happened  to  meet  one 
morning  in  Mrs.  Allerton' s  little  sitting-room.  Mrs.  Cray 
croft  came  in  last,  and  Mrs.  Bladen,  after  stopping  for  a  few 
minutes,  pursued  her  discourse  with  her  usual  volubility.  It 


CONSTANCE  ALLERTON.  481 

was  on  the  subject  of  Mrs.  Allerton  and  her  daughter  getting 
new  pelisses,  or  coats  as  they  are  more  commonly  called  in 
Philadelphia. 

"  I  can  assure  you,"  said  she,  "  now  that  the  weather  has 
become  so  cold,  people  talk  about  your  going  to  church  in 
those  three-cornered  cloth-shawls,  which  you  know  are  only 
eingle,  and  were  merely  intended  for  autumn  and  spring. 
They  did  very  well  when  you  first  got  them  (for  the  weather 
was  then  mild),  but  the  season  is  now  too  far  advanced  to 
wear  shawls  of  any  sort.  You  know  everybody  gets  their 
new  coats  by  Christmas,  and  it  is  now  after  New- Year's." 

"  We  would  be  very  glad  to  have  coats/'  replied  Mrs. 
Allerton,  "  but  they  are  too  expensive." 

"  Not  so  very,"  answered  Mrs.  Bladen.  "  To  be  sure,  fine 
black  cloth  or  cassimere  is  the  most  fashionable  for  mourning 
coats.  But  many  very  genteel  people  wear  black  levantine 
or  black  mode  trimmed  with  crape.  Handsome  silk  coats 
would  scarcely  cost  above  twenty  or  twenty-five  dollars 
apiece." 

"  We  cannot  afford  them,"  said  Mrs.  Allerton.  "  We  must 
only  refrain  from  going  out  when  the  weather  is  very  cold.  I 
acknowledge  that  our  shawls  are  not  sufficiently  warm." 

"  Did  you  not  all  get  new  olive-coloured  silk  coats,  just  be 
fore  Mr.  Allerton  died  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Cray  croft. 

The  abrupt  mention  of  a  name  which  they  had  long  since 
found  it  almost  impossible  to  utter,  brought  tears  into  the  eyes 
of  the  whole  family.  There  was  a  general  silence,  and  Mrs. 
Bladen  rose  to  depart,  saying,  li  I  would  recommend  to  you 
to  get  the  coats  as  soon  as  possible,  or  the  winter  will  be  over 
without  them.  And  I  can  assure  you  as  a  friend,  that  people 
do  make  their  remarks.  I  am  going  into  Second  street ;  shall 
I  look  among  the  best  stores  for  some  black  levantine  ?  or 
would  you  rather  have  mode  ?  But  I  had  best  bring  you 
patterns  of  both :  and  shall  I  call  on  Miss  Facings  and  bespeak 
her  to  make  the  coats  for  you  ?" 

"  We  thank  you  much,"  replied  Mrs.  Allerton,  "  but  we 
will  not  give  you  the  trouble  either  to  look  for  the  silk,  or  to 
engage  the  mantuamaker.  We  must  for  this  winter  dispense 
with  new  coats." 

Mrs.  Bladen  then  took  her  leave,  saying,  "  Well,  do  as  you 
please,  but  people  think  it  very  strange  that  you  should  be  still 
wearing  your  shawls,  now  that  the  cold  weather  has  set  in." 

Constance  was  glad  that  Mrs.  Bladen  had  not  in  this  instance 
36* 


432  CONSTANCE  ALLERTON. 

carried  her  point.  But  she  grieved  to  think  that  her  sister 
and  nieces  could  not  have  the  comfort  of  wearing  their  coats 
because  the  olive-colour  did  not  comport  with  their  mourning 
bonnets.  For  herself,  having  made  no  attempt  at  mourning, 
Constance  had  no  scruple  as  to  appearing  in  hers. 

"When  Mrs.  Bladen  was  gone,  Mrs.  Craycroft  spoke  again, 
and  said,  "  I  wonder  how  people  can  be  so  inconsiderate !  But 
Mrs.  Bladen  never  could  see  things  in  their  proper  light.  She 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  giving  you  such  advice.  Now,  I  would 
recommend  to  you  to  have  your  olive  silk  coats  ripped  apart, 
and  dyed  black,  and  then  you  can  make  them  up  again  your 
selves.  You  know  that  if  you  were  not  in  mourning,  you 
might  wear  them  as  they  are ;  but  as  you  have  begun  with 
black,  I  suppose  it  would  never  do  to  be  seen  in  coloured 
things  also." 

"I  believe,"  replied  Mrs.  Allerton,  " there  is  generally 
much  trouble  in  getting  articles  dyed — at  least  in  this  city, 
and  that  they  are  frequently  spoiled  in  the  process." 

u  Your  informants,"  said  Mrs.  Craycroft,  "  must  have  been 
peculiarly  unlucky  in  their  dyers.  I  can  recommend  you  to  Mr. 
Copperas,  who  does  things  beautifully,  so  that  they  look  quite 
as  good  as  new.  He  dyes  for  Mrs.  Narrowskirt  and  for  Mrs. 
Dingy.  I  advise  you  by  all  means  to  send  your  coats  to  him. 
And  no  doubt  you  have  many  other  things,  now  lying  by  as 
useless,  that  would  be  serviceable  if  dyed  black." 

"I  believe  I  will  take  your  advice,"  answered  Mrs.  Allerton. 

Mrs.  Craycroft  then  proceeded  :  "  Situated  as  you  are,  Mrs. 
Allerton,  I  need  not  say  how  much  it  behooves  you  to  econo 
mize  in  everything  you  possibly  can ;  now  for  instance,  I  would 
suggest  to  you  all  to  drink  rye  coffee.  And  then  as  to  tea,  if 
you  must  have  tea  of  an  evening,  I  know  a  place  where  you 
can  get  it  as  low  as  half  a  dollar  a  pound — to  be  sure  it  is  only 
Hyson  Skin.  In  your  family  a  pound  of  tea  ought  to  go  a 
great  way,  for  now,  of  course,  you  do  not  make  it  strong.  And 
then,  I  would  advise  you  all  to  accustom  yourselves  to  brown 
sugar  in  your  tea  ;  it  is  nothing  when  you  are  used  to  it.  Of 
course  you  always  take  it  in  your  coffee.  And  there  is  a  baker 
not  far  off,  that  makes  large  loaves  of  rye  and  Indian  mixed. 
You  will  find  it  much  cheaper  than  wheat.  Of  course  you  are 
not  so  extravagant  as  to  eat  fresh  bread.  And  as  to  butter,  if 
you  cannot  dispense  with  it  altogether,  I  would  suggest  that 
you  should  use  the  potted  butter  from  the  grocery  stores. 
Some  of  it  is  excellent.  I  suppose  that  of  course  you  have 


CONSTANCE  ALLERTON.  433 

entirely  given  up  all  kinds  of  desserts,  but  if  you  should  wish 
for  anything  of  the  kind  on  Sundays,  or  after  a  cold  dinner, 
you  will  find  plain  boiled  rice  sweetened  with  a  very  little 
molasses,  almost  as  good  as  a  pudding.  No  doubt  the  children 
will  like  it  quite  as  well.  You  know,  I  suppose,  that  if  you 
defer  going  to  market  till  near  twelve  o'clock  you  will  always 
get  things  much  cheaper  than  if  you  go  in  the  early  part  of 
the  day  ]  as  towards  noon  the  market  people  are  impatient  to 
get  home,  and  in  their  hurry  to  be  off,  will  sell  for  almost 
nothing  whatever  they  may  chance  to  have  left.  In  buying 
wood,  let  me  recommend  to  you  always  to  get  it  as  green  as 
possible.  To  be  sure  green  wood  does  not  always  make  so 
good  a  fire  as  that  which  is  dry,  neither  does  it  kindle  so  well ; 
but  then  the  slower  it  burns  the  longer  it  lasts,  and  it  is  there 
fore  the  cheapest.  And  always  get  gum  back-logs,  for  they 
scarcely  burn  at  all.  I  see  you  still  keep  your  black  woman 
Lucy.  Now  you  will  find  it  much  better  to  dismiss  her,  and 
take  a  bound  girl  about  twelve  or  thirteen.  Then  you  know 
you  would  have  no  wages  to  pay,  and  your  daughters,  of 
course,  would  not  mind  helping  her  with  the  work/' 

During  this  harangue,  the  colour  came  into  Mrs.  Allerton's 
face,  and  she  was  about  to  answer  in  a  manner  that  showed 
how  acutely  she  was  wounded  by  the  unfeeling  impertinence 
of  the  speaker:  but  glancing  at  Constance  she  saw  something 
in  her  countenance  that  resembled  a  smile,  and  perceived  that 
she  seemed  rather  amused  than  angry.  Therefore  Mrs.  Aller- 
ton  suppressed  her  resentment,  and  made  no  reply. 

"When  Mrs.  Craycroft  had  departed,  the  mother  and  daugh 
ters  warmly  deprecated  her  rudeness  and  insolence  ]  but  Con 
stance,  being  by  nature  very  susceptible  of  the  ridiculous,  was 
much  more  inclined  to  laugh,  and  succeeded  in  inducing  her 
sister  and  the  girls  to  regard  it  in  the  same  light  that  she  did. 

"  After  all,"  said  Mrs.  Allerton,  "  I  think  we  will  take  Mrs. 
Craycroft' s  advice  about  the  dyeing.  The  olive  coats  may  thus 
be  turned  to  very  good  account,  and  so  may  several  other  things 
of  which  we  cannot  now  make  use  because  of  their  colour.  It 
is  true,  that  we  can  ill  afford  even  the  expense  of  dyeing 
them ;  but  still  we  are  really  very  much  in  want  of  such  coats 
as  we  may  wear  in  mourning." 

Next  day,  the  olive  pelisses,  which  were  very  pretty  and  ex 
tremely  well  made,  were  carefully  ripped  apart,  and  the  silk 
was  conveyed  to  the  dyer's,  together  with  a  small  scarlet  Can 
ton  crape  shawl  of  Mrs.  Allerton's,  which  she  thought  would 


434  CONSTANCE   ALLERTON, 

be  convenient  in  cold  weather  to  wear  over  her  shoulders  when 
at  home.  The  materiel  of  the  dismembered  coats  was  rolled 
up  in  as  small  a  compass  as  possible,  wrapped  in  papers,  and 
carried  one  afternoon  by  Isabella  and  Helen.  Mr.  Copperas 
informed  them  that  he  only  dyed  on  Thursdays,  and  as  this 
was  Friday  afternoon,  they  had  come  a  day  too  late  to  have  the 
things  done  that  week.  Therefore  the  articles  could  not  be 
put  into  the  dye  before  next  Thursday,  and  then  it  would  be 
another  week  before  they  could  be  dressed.  Dressing,  in  the 
dyer's  phraseology,  means  stiffening  and  ironing;  and  very 
frequently  ironing  only. 

This  delay  was  extremely  inconvenient,  as  Mrs.  Allerton  and 
her  daughters  were  absolutely  very  much  in  need  of  the  coats; 
yet  there  was  no  remedy  but  patience.  At  the  appointed  time, 
two  of  the  girls  went  to  bring  home  the  silk,  but  were  told  by  a 
small-featured,  mild-spoken  Quaker  woman,  employed  to  attend 
the  customers,  that  "the  things  were  dyed  but  not  yet  dressed." 

"  Will  they  be  finished  by  to-morrow  afternoon  ?"  asked 
Isabella. 

"  I  rather  think  they  will  not." 

"By  Saturday,  then?" 

"It's  likely  they  will." 

On  Saturday,  the  girls  went  again.  Still  the  articles, 
though  dyed,  were  not  yet  dressed :  but  they  were  promised 
for  Tuesday — if  nothing  happened  to  prevent. 

Every  few  days,  for  near  a  fortnight,  some  of  the  Allerton 
family  repaired  to  the  dyer's  (and  it  was  a  very  long  walk) 
but  without  any  success — the  things,  though  always  dyed, 
were  never  dressed.  And  when  they  expressed  their  disap 
pointment,  the  Quaker  woman  regularly  told  them  :  "  Thee 
knows  I  did  not  say  positive — we  should  never  be  too  certain 
of  anything." 

Finally,  the  silk  was  acknowledged  to  be  dressed,  and  it 
was  produced  and  paid  for ;  but  the  crape  shawl  was  missing. 
A  search  was  made  for  it,  but  in  vain ;  still  the  woman  assured 
them  that  it  could  not  be  lost,  as  nothing  ever  was  lost  in 
James  Copperas's  house,  adding :  "  I  partly  promise  thee,  that 
if  I  live,  I  will  find  it  for  thee  by  to-morrow." 

Next  day,  when  she  had  done  sewing,  little  Louisa  went 
again  for  the  shawl.  The  woman  now  confessed  that  she  had 
not  been  able  to  find  it,  and  said  to  Louisa:  "I  think,  child, 
I  would  not  advise  thee  to  trouble  thyself  to  come  after  it 
again.  It  seems  a  pity  to  wear  out  thy  shoes  too  much.  One 


-  CONSTANCE  ALLERTON.  435 

should  not  be  too  certain  of  anything  in  this  life,  and  therefore 
I  am  not  free  to  say  that  thy  shawl  is  lost ;  but  it  seems  to 
me  likely  that  it  will  never  be  found." 

"  My  mother  will  be  sorry/'  said  Louisa,  "  for  she  really 
wants  the  shawl,  and  will  regret  to  lose  it." 

The  little  girl  then  turned  to  depart,  and  had  reached  the 
front  door  when  the  woman  called  her  back,  saying  :  "  But 
thee'll  pay  for  the  dyeing?"* 

"What!"  exclaimed  Louisa,  "after  you  have  lost  the 
shawl  ?" 

"  But  I  can  assure  thee  it  was  dyed,"  replied  the  woman. 
"  It  actually  was  dyed,  I  can  speak  positive  to  that,  and  we 
cannot  afford  to  lose  the  dyeing." 

Louisa,  child  as  she  was,  had  acuteness  enough  to  perceive 
the  intended  imposition,  and,  without  making  an  answer,  she 
slipped  out  of  the  door :  though  the  woman  caught  her  by  the 
skirt,  and  attempted  to  stop  her,  repeating  :  "  But  we  can't 
afford  to  lose  the  dyeing." 

Louisa,  however,  disengaged  herself  from  her  grasp,  and 
ran  down  the  street,  for  some  distance,  as  fast  as  possible — 
afraid  to  look  back  lest  the  Quaker  woman  should  be  coming 
after  her  for  the  money  she  had  brought  to  pay  for  the  shawl, 
and  which  she  took  care  to  hold  tightly  in  her  hand. 

In  attempting  to  make  up  the  coats,  it  was  found  impossible 
to  put  the  different  pieces  together  to  the  same  advantage  as 
before.  Also,  the  silk  did  not  look  well,  being  dyed  of  a  dull 
brownish  black,  and  stiffened  to  the  consistence  of  paper.  The 
skirts  and  sleeves  had  shrunk  much  in  dyeing,  and  the  pieces 
that  composed  the  bodies  had  been  ravelled,  frayed,  and  pulled 
so  crooked  in  dressing,  that  they  had  lost  nearly  all  shape. 
It  was  impossible  to  make  up  the  deficiencies  by  matching  the 
silk  with  new,  as  none  was  to  be  found  that  bore  sufficient 
resemblance  to  it.  "  Ah  !"  thought  Constance,  "  how  well 
these  coats  looked  when  in  their  original  state  !  The  shade 
of  olive  was  so  beautiful,  the  silk  so  soft  and  glossy,  and  they 
fitted  so  perfectly  well." 

When  put  together  under  all  these  disadvantages,  the  coats 
looked  so  badly  that  the  girls  were  at  first  unwilling  to  wear 
them,  except  in  extreme  cold  weather — particularly  as  in 
coming  out  of  church  they  overheard  whispers  among  the 
ladies  in  the  crowd,  of  "  That's  a  dyed  silk" — "  Any  one 
may  see  that  those  coats  have  been  dyed." 

*  Fact. 


436  CONSTANCE  ALLERTON. 

They  trimmed  them  with  crape,  in  hopes  of  making  them 
look  better ;  but  the  crape  wore  out  almost  immediately,  and 
in  fact  it  had  to  be  taken  off  before  the  final  close  of  the  cold 
weather. 

Spring  came  at  last,  and  the  Allerton  family,  having  strug 
gled  through  a  melancholy  and  comfortless  winter,  had  taken 
a  larger  house  in  a  better  part  of  the  town,  and  made  arrange 
ments  for  commencing  their  school,  in  which  Constance  was  to 
be  chief  instructress.  Isabella  and  Helen,  whose  ages  were 
sixteen  and  fourteen,  were  to  assist  in  teaching  some  branches, 
but  to  continue  receiving  lessons  in  others.  Louisa  was  to  be 
one  of  the  pupils. 

About  a  fortnight  before  their  intended  removal  to  their 
new  residence,  one  afternoon  when  none  of  the  family  were  at 
home,  except  Constance,  she  was  surprised  by  the  visit  of  a 
friend  from  New  Bedford,  a  young  gentleman  who  had  been 
absent  three  years  on  a  whaling  voyage,  in  a  ship  in  which  he 
had  the  chief  interest,  his  father  being  owner  of  several  vessels 
in  that  line. 

Edmund  Lessingham  was  an  admirer  of  ladies  generally  : 
but  during  his  long  voyage  he  found  by  his  thinking  inces 
santly  of  Constance,  and  not  at  all  of  any  other  female,  that 
he  was  undoubtedly  in  love  with  her ;  a  fact  which  he  had  not 
suspected  till  the  last  point  of  Massachusetts  faded  from  his 
view.  He  resolved  to  improve  his  intimacy  with  our  heroine, 
should  he  find  her  still  at  liberty,  on  his  return  to  New  Bed 
ford;  and  if  he  perceived  a  probability  of  success,  to  make  her 
at  once  an  offer  of  his  hand.  When  Lessingham  came  home, 
he  was  much  disappointed  to  hear  that  Constance  Allerton  had 
been  living  for  more  than  a  twelvemonth  in  Philadelphia. 
However,  he  lost  no  time  in  coming  on  to  see  her. 

When  he  was  shown  into  the  parlour,  she  was  sitting  with 
her  head  bent  over  her  work.  She  started  up  on  being  accost 
ed  by  his  well-remembered  voice.  Not  having  heard  of  the 
death  of  her  brother,  and  not  seeing  her  in  mourning,  Edmund 
Lessingham  was  at  a  loss  to  account  for  the  tears  that  filled 
her  eyes,  and  for  the  emotion  that  suffocated  her  voice  when 
she  attempted  to  reply  to  his  warm  expressions  of  delight  at 
seeing  her  again.  Pie  perceived  that  she  was  thinner  and 
paler  than  when  he  had  last  seen  her,  and  he  feared  that  all 
was  not  right.  She  signed  to  him  to  sit  down,  and  was  en 
deavouring  to  compose  herself,  when  Mrs.  Craycroft  was  shown 
into  the  room.  That  lady  stared  with  surprise  at  seeing  a 


CONSTANCE  ALLERTON.  437 

very  handsome  young  gentleman  with  Constance,  who  hastily 
wiped  her  eyes  and  introduced  Mr.  Lessingham. 

Mrs.  Craycroft  took  a  seat,  and  producing  two  or  three 
morning  caps  from  her  reticule,  she  said  in  her  usual  loud 
voice,  "  Miss  Allerton,  I  have  brought  these  caps  for  you  to 
alter — I  wish  you  to  do  them  immediately,  that  they  may  be 
washed  next  week.  I  find  the  borders  rather  too  broad,  and 
the  headpieces  too  large  (though  to  be  sure  I  did  cut  them  out 
myself),  so  I  want  you  to  rip  them  apart,  and  make  the  head 
pieces  smaller,  and  the  borders  narrower,  and  then  whip  them 
and  sew  them  on  again.  I  was  out  the  other  day  when  you 
sent  home  my  husband's  shirts  with  the  bill,  but  when  you 
have  done  the  caps  I  will  pay  you  for  all  together.  What 
will  you  charge  for  making  a  dozen  aprons  of  bird's  eye  diaper 
for  my  little  Anna  ?  You  must  not  ask  much,  for  I  want  them 
quite  plain — mere  bibs — they  are  always  the  best  for  babies. 
Unless  you  will  do  them  very  cheap,  I  may  as  well  make  them 
myself." 

The  face  of  Lessingham  became  scarlet,  and,  starting  from 
his  chair,  he  traversed  the  room  in  manifest  perturbation; 
sympathizing  with  what  he  supposed  to  be  the  confusion  and 
mortification  of  Constance,  and  regretting  that  the  sex  of  Mrs. 
Craycroft  prevented  him  from  knocking  her  down. 

Constance,  however,  rallied,  replying  with  apparent  com 
posure  to  Mrs.  Craycroft  on  the  points  in  question,  and  calmly 
settling  the  bargain  for  the  bird's-eye  aprons — she  knew  that 
it  is  only  in  the  eyes  of  the  vulgar-minded  and  the  foolish  that 
a  woman  is  degraded  by  exerting  her  ingenuity  or  her  talents 
as  a  means  of  support. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Craycroft,  "  you  may  send  for  the  aprons 
to-morrow,  and  I  wish  you  to  hurry  with  them  as  fast  as  you 
can — when  I  give  out  work,  I  never  like  it  to  be  kept  long 
on  hand.  I  will  pay  you  for  the  other  things  when  the  aprons 
are  done." 

Mrs.  Craycroft  then  took  her  leave,  and  Constance  turned 
to  the  window  to  conceal  from  Lessingham  the  tears  that  in 
spite  of  her  self-coin niand  were  now  stealing  down  her  cheeks. 

Lessingham  hastily  went  up  to  her,  and  taking  her  hand, 
he  said,  with  much  feeling  :  "  Dear  Constance — Miss  Allerton 
I  mean — what  has  happened  during  my  absence  ?  Why  do 
I  see  you  thus  ?  But  I  fear  that  I  distress  you  by  inquiring. 
I  perceive  that  you  are  not  happy — that  you  have  suffered 
much;  and  that  your  circumstances  are  changed.  Can  I  do 


CONSTANCE   ALLERTON. 

nothing  to  console  you  or  to  improve  your  situation  ?  Let 
me  at  once  have  a  right  to  do  so — let  me  persuade  you  to 
unite  your  fate  with  mine,  and  put  an  end,  I  hope  for  ever, 
to  these  unmerited,  these  intolerable  humiliations." 

"  No,  Mr.  Lessingham,"  said  Constance,  deeply  affected, 
tl  I  will  not  take  advantage  of  the  generous  impulse  that  has 
led  you  thus  suddenly  to  make  an  offer,  which,  perhaps,  in  a 
calmer  moment,  and  on  cooler  consideration,  you  may  think 
of  with  regret." 

"  Regret  I"  exclaimed  Lessingham,  pressing  her  hand  be 
tween  both  of  his,  and  surveying  her  with  a  look  of  the  fondest 
admiration,  "dearest  Constance,  how  little  you  know  your 
own  value — how  little  you  suppose  that  during  our  long  sepa 
ration — " 

Here  he  was  interrupted  in  his  impassioned  address  by  the 
entrance  of  Mrs.  Allerton  and  her  daughters.  Constance 
hastily  withdrew  her  hand  and  presented  him  as  Mr.  Lessing 
ham,  a  friend  of  hers  from  New  Bedford. 

Being  much  agitated,  she  in  a  few  minutes  retired  to  com 
pose  herself  in  her  own  apartment.  The  girls  soon  after 
withdrew,  and  Lessingham,  frankly  informing  Mrs.  Allerton 
that  he  was  much  and  seriously  interested  in  her  sister-in-law, 
begged  to  know  some  particulars  of  her  present  condition. 

Mrs.  Allerton,  who  felt  it  impossible  to  regard  Mr.  Les 
singham  as  a  stranger,  gave  him  a  brief  outline  of  the  circum 
stances  of  Constance's  residence  with  them,  and  spoke  of  her 
as  the  guardian-angel  of  the  family.  (c  She  is  not  only,"  said 
her  sister-in-law,  "  one  of  the  most  amiable  and  affectionate, 
but  also  one  of  the  most  sensible  and  judicious  of  women. 
Never,  never  have  we  in  any  instance  acted  contrary  to  her 
advice,  without  eventually  finding  cause  to  regret  that  we  did 
BO."  And  Mrs.  Allerton  could  not  forbear  casting  her  eyes 
over  her  mourning  dress. 

Lessingham,  though  the  praises  of  Constance  were  music 
in  his  ears,  had  tact  enough  to  take  his  leave,  fearing  that  his 
visit  was  interfering  with  the  tea-hour  of  the  family. 

Next  morning,  the  weather  was  so  mild  as  to  enable  them 
to  sit  up  stairs  with  their  sewing;  for  latterly,  the  state  of 
their  fuel  had  not  allowed  them  to  keep  fire  except  in  the 
parlour  and  kitchen.  Lessingham  called  and  inquired  for 
Constance.  She  came  down,  and  saw  him  alone.  He  re 
newed,  in  explicit  terms,  the  offer  he  had  so  abruptly  made 


CONSTANCE  ALLERTON.  439 

her  on  the  preceding  afternoon.  Constance,  whose  heart  had 
been  with  Lessingham  during  the  whole  of  his  long  absence, 
had  a  severe  struggle  before  she  could  bring  herself  to  insist 
on  their  union  being  postponed  for  at  least  two  years  :  during 
which  time  she  wished,  for  the  sake  of  the  family,  to  remain 
with  them,  and  get  the  school  firmly  established ;  her  nieces, 
meanwhile,  completing  their  education,  and  acquiring,  under 
her  guidance,  a  proficiency  in  the  routine  of  teaching. 

" But  surely,"  said  Lessingham,  "you  understand  that  I 
wish  you  to  make  over  to  your  sister-in-law  the  whole  of  your 
aunt  Ilford's  legacy  ?  You  shall  bring  me  nothing  but  your 
invaluable  self." 

Though  grateful  for  the  generosity  and  disinterestedness  of 
her  lover,  Constance  knew  that  the  interest  of  her  ten  thou 
sand  dollars  was,  of  course,  not  sufficient  to  support  Mrs. 
Allerton  and  her  children  without  some  other  source  of  in- 
cqme ;  and  she  was  convinced  that  they  would  never  consent 
to  become  pensioners  on  Lessingham' s  bounty,  kind  and  libe 
ral  as  he  was.  She  therefore  adhered  to  her  determination 
of  remaining  with  her  sister  and  nieces  till  she  had  seen  them 
fairly  afloat,  and  till  she  could  leave  them  in  a  prosperous  con 
dition.  And  Lessingham  was  obliged  to  yield  to  her  convic 
tion  that  she  was  acting  rightly,  and  to  consent  that  the  com 
pletion  of  his  happiness  should  accordingly  be  deferred  for 
two  years. 

He  remained  in  Philadelphia  till  he  had  seen  the  Allerton 
family  established  i#  their  new  habitation,  and  he  managed 
with  much  delicacy  to  aid  them  in  the  expenses  of  fitting 
it  up. 

The  school  was  commenced  with  a  much  larger  number  of 
pupils  than  had  been  anticipated.  It  increased  rapidly  under 
the  judicious  superintendence  of  Constance  :  and  in  the  course 
of  two  years  she  had  rendered  Isabella  and  Helen  so  capable 
of  filling  her  place,  that  all  the  parents  were  perfectly  satisfied 
to  continue  their  children-  with  them.  At  the  end  of  that 
time,  Lessingham  (who,  in  the  interval,  had  made  frequent 
visits  to  Philadelphia)  came  to  claim  the  promised  hand  of  his 
Constance.  They  were  married — she  having  first  transferred 
the  whole  of  her  little  property  to  her  brother's  widow. 

At  the  earnest  desire  of  Lessingham,  Mrs.  Allerton  con 
sented  that  Louisa  should  live  in  future  with  her  beloved 
aunt  Constance ;  and  consequently  the  little  girl  accompanied 
them  to  New  Bedford. 
37 


440  CONSTANCE  ALLERTON. 

Mrs.  Allcrton  and  her  family  went  on  and  prospered — her 
son  was  everything  that  a  parent  could  wish — her  children  all 
married  advantageously — and  happily  she  has  not  yet  had 
occasion  to  put  in  practice  her  resolution  of  never  again  wear 
ing  mourning :  though  principle,  and  not  necessity,  m>  the 
motive  which  will  henceforward  deter  her  from  complying 
with  that  custom. 


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for  the  most  part,  not  the  low  comic  life  af 
fected  by  so  many  of  the  recent  painters  of 
Southern  manners  and  adventures." — North 
American. 

"  The  sketches  before  us  arc  full  of  capti 
vating  and  amusing  incidents;  and  to  the 
Mississippi  reader,  they  are  peculiarly  in 
teresting,  from  the  fact  that  many  of  the 
'Scenes'  are  laid  within  the  borders  of  our 
own  State.  To  all  who  would  enjoy  an  enter 
taining  volume,  we  commend  this  work." — • 
The  Mississippian. 

"  A  grap'  ic  description  of  the  peculiarities 
of  people  in  a  new  country,  in  which  curious 
relations  are  Wl;>nded  with  satire  and  broad 
humour,  cannot  fail  to  amuse.  Such  is  the 
character  of  this  agreeable  volume." — Haiti' 
more  American. 


NOBODY'S    SON: 

OR, 

Adventures  of  Pcrcival  Maberry. 

WRITTEN  BY  HIMSELF. 

Price  50  cents. 

" '  Nobody's  Son'  will  interest  and  please 
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velty  in  its  way,  and  full  to  overflowing  with 
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until  the  story  is  mastered  entire." — City 
5  Item. 

I  "A  well-written  story  of  adventure,  bor- 
]  dering  somewhat  on  the  marvellous,  but  an 
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I  "This  is  a  well-written  book,  by  an  author 
i  from  whom  we  hope  to  he?vr  again.  It  is  full 
?  of  incident  and  adventure,  while  Maberry 
/  himself  is  exceedingly  well  drawn." — £ 

<  flun  dii-fif.p.. 


A.  HART'S   STANDARD  WORKS. 


STANDARD  WORKS. 

Price  Reduced  to  $2  50, 

THE  WAVERLEY   NOVELS. 
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LORD  BACON'S  WORKS. 

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THE  WORKS  OF  LORD  BACON, 

WITH    A    MEMOIR,    AND    A  TRANSLATION 
OF  HIS  LATIN   WRITINGS, 

BY  BASIL  MONTAGU,  ESQ. 
In  Three  Volumes,  Octavo. 

The  American  edition  of  the  works  of 
Lord  Bacon,  now  offered  to  the  public,  is 
reprinted  from  the  most  approved  English 
edition,  that  of  Basil  Montagu.  Esq.,  which 
has  recently  issued  from  the  celebrated 
press  of  Pickering,  (the  modern  Aldus.)  in 
seventeen  octavo  volumes.  It  contains  the 
complete  works  of  the  illustrious  philoso 
pher,  those  in  Latin  being  translated  into 
English.  In  order  to  render  the  publica 
tion  cheap,  and  therefore  attainable  by  all 
our  public  and  social  libraries,  as  well  as 
by  those  general  readers  who  study  econo 
my,  the  seventeen  octavo  volumes  have 
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octavo.  Being  printed  from  the~most  accu 
rate  as  well  as  complete  English  edition, 
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will  possess  greater  advantages  for  the  cri 
tical  scholar  as  well  as  the  general  reader. 
In  typography,  paper  and  binding,  it  will 
be  recognized  as  a  brilliant  specimen  of 
the  products  of  the  American  book  trade. 

"We  may  safely  affirm,  that,  by  giving 
the  Inductive  Philosophy  to  the  world, 
Lord  Bacon -has  proved  one  of  its  most  sig 
nal  benefactors,  and  has  largely  done  his 
part  towards  promoting  the  final  triumph 
of  alMruth,  whether  natural," or  moral  and 
intellectual,  over  all  error;  and  towards 
bringing  on  that  glorious  crisis,  destined, 
we  doubt  not,  one  day  to  arrive,  when,  ac 
cording  to  the  allegorical  representation  of 
that  great  poet,  who  was  not  only  the  Ad 
mirer  of  Bacon,  but  in  some  respects  his 
kindred  genius — TRUTH,  though  '  hewn  like 
the  mangled  body  of  Osiris,  into  athous'and 
pieces,  and  scattered  to  the  four  winds, 
shall  be  gathered  limb  to  limb,  and  mould 
ed,  with  every  joint  and  member,  into  an 
immortal  feature  of  loveliness  and  perfec 
tion."' 

"We  are  more  gratified  than  we  can 
find  words  to  express,  to  find  a  publishing 
house  in  this  country,  putting  forth  a  pub 
lication  like  the  Complete  Works  of  Lord 
Bacon,  in  a  form  at  once  compact,  elegant 
and  economical."—  B rather  Jonathan. 


WALTER  SCOTT'S  COMPLETE  WORKS, 

In  10  vols.,  Royal  8t<o,  Cloth  gilt,  for 

only  8101! 

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3340  Pages  for  Two  Dollars  and  a  Half. 
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Abridgment. 

In  Five  Royal  8vo.  volumes,  upwards  of 
850  Pages  in  each  volume. 

CONTENTS. 

Waverley,  Guy  Mannering,  Antiquary^ 
Rob  Roy,  Black  Dwarf,  Old  Mortality, 
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moor,  Legend  of  Montrose,  IvalThbe,  The 
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Pirate,  Fortunes  of  Nigel,  Peveril  of  the 
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Drovers.  Mv  Aunt  Margaret's  Mirror, 
Tapestried  Chamner,  The  Laird's  Jock, 
Fair  Maid  of  Penh.  Anne  of  Gi^Btem, 
Count  Robert  of  Paris,  Castle  Dangerous, 
The  Surgeon's  Daughter. 

The  object  of  the  publishers  in  thus  re 
ducing  the  price  of  the  Waverley  Novels, 
is  to  endeavor  to  give  them  a  greatly  ex- 
ided  circulation,  and  they  have,  there- 
ore,  put  them  at  a  price  which  brings  them 
with;n  the   reach  of  every  family  in   the 
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Vaverley  Novels  alone  form  a  Library. 
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nderstood,  that,  while  the  price  is  so  great- 
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ncreased,  by  the  immense  reduction  in 
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was  considered  wonderfully  cheap. 


A.  HART'S  STANDARD  WORKS. 


THE 


THE 


Wtilm  nf  Sittirini, hptte  SSrita  nf" 


•WITH    A    SURVEY  OF    THR  INTELLECTUAL 

H1STOKV,  CONDITION,  AND  PROSPECTS 

OF  T1IE  COUNTRY. 

BY  RUFUS  WILMOT  GRISWOLD, 

FOURTH   EDITION,   REVISED. 

Illustrated  with  Portraits  from  Original 

Pictures, 

Complete  in  one  volume  octavo — $3  50. 
CONTENTS. 


BY  F,  H,  HEDGE. 

ILLUSTRATED   WITH   PORTRAITS. 

The  work  mentioned  above  comprises  a 
list  of  the  most  eminent  writers  of  Germany, 
together  with  copious  extracts  from  their 
works,  beginning  with  LUTHER  and  reaching 
up  to  the  present  time.  For  those  who  are 
interested  in  the  literature  of  Germany,  it 
presents  a  valuable  aid  in  becoming  more 


Intellectual  History,  Condition,  and  Pros-  \  intimately  acquainted  with  the  German 
perts  of  the  Country — Edwards,  Franklin,  >  mjnj.  an(j  HVen  to  the  curious  it  offers  aq 
Jefferson,  Madison,  Dwight,  Marshall,  Hamil- ,  excitement  which  will  grow  stronger  in  pro 
ton.  Amrs,  J.  Q.  Adams,  C.  B.  Brown,  Wirt,  l/  portion  as  their  taste  is  cultivated. 
Quincy,  Allston.  Story,  Paulding,  Flint, Chan-  <  jn  the  present  volume  we  find  valuable  ex- 
ring,  Wheaton,  Webster,  Audubon,  Walsh,-  ]  tracts,  given  from  their  prose  writings.  Al- 
Irving,  Buckininster,Yerplanck,  Norton,  San-  /  though  the  writers  follow  in  chronological 
dersou,  Dana.  Wilde,  Cooper,  A.  11.  Everett,  |  order,  and  LUTHER  stands  at  the  head  of  hi;i  in- 
Hall.  Schoolcraft,  Dewey,  Sparks,  John  Neal,  ^  tellectual  brethren,  the  longest  space  is  allow- 
Bryant,  Edward  Everett.  Kennedy,  Bush,  j  edto  those  who  claim  our  greatest  attention; 
Sedgwick,  Wayland,  L'rescott,  Edward  Robin-  >  anti  GOETHE  therefore  occupies  the  most  con- 

0  r  ,.  T-  T»r T> f4-         "\f~«c,U        (  .  1        •          ,1  __  ; ..         .    _f..__ 


BonrL<-slie,  Lcgare,  Ware.  Bancroft,  Marsh, 
Hooker,  Brownson.  Child,  Bird,  Emerson. 
Fay,  Cheever,  Hoffman,  Kirkianci,  Haw 
thorne,  Willis,  Longfellow?  Simms,  Joseph 
C.  Neal,  Poe,  Tuckeruiati,  Fuller,  Ileadley, 
Mathews,  Thorpe,  Whipple. 

Mr.  Griswold's  book  has  been  executed 


position  both  in  the  specimens  given 
and  the  selection  of  the  pieces.  GOLTHJ:  is  a 
writer  who  requires  most  of  ail  to  be  studied ; 
while  others,  as  SCHILLER,  in  his  passionate 
mood  and  ideal  longings,  requires  no  silent 
and  incessant  reflection,  because  he  works 
his  effects  immediately  by  rousing  the  depth 


honestly,  ably,  and  well,  and  is  a  valuable  >  of  our  nature.  Next  to  GOETHE.  SCHILLER 
contribution  to  the  literature  of  the  coun-  .,ppears  in  au  article  upon  Naive  and  Seuti- 
t.ry." — Knickerbocker.  mental  Poetry,  a  bold  effort  of  him,  the  sue- 

"We  deem  the  book  by  all  odds  the  best  \  cess  Of  which  is  however  yet  very  disputed, 


of  its  kind  that  has  ever  been  issued  :  and  we 
certainly  know  of  no  one  who  could  have 
made  it  better."  —  N.  Y.  Courier  and  Enquirer. 


&  Ntfo 

OF   THE    HISTORY    OF    THE 

FRENCH  REVOLUTION, 

BY  M.  A.  TH1ERS, 

LATE   PRIME   MINISTER   OF   FRANCE. 

Translated  from  the  French,  with  Notes  and 

Additions. 

The  Four  Volumes  complete  in  Two. 
Price  only  $1  50. 


to  classify  every  produce  of  Art  according  to 
p  the  impressions  made  upon  the  reader,  and 
;to  dispense  with  the  vaiious   and   cumber- 
^some  forms  of  the  departments  into  which 
I  we  have  been   accustomed  hitherto   to   ar 
range  all  subjects  bearing  upon  poetry.    The 
department    upon    which    SOHILLI.K    enters 
here,  belongs  properly  to  the  philosophy  of 
Art ;  to  the  aesthetics,  the  investigation  of 
the  beautiful. 

Foremost  stands  LESSING,  the  first  critic  of 
his  time.  Next  to  him  comes  HERDER,  a  de 
vout  philosopher,  and  a  clear-sighted  intel 
lect,  with  the  eyes  of  a  child;  curious  to 
penetrate  the  maze  and  noisy  market  of  the 
world,  the  variegated  life  among  the  ancients 
and  the  moderns  in  search  for  that  beautiful 
humanity  which  he  had  sketched  in  his  own 


The  edition  of  the  History  of  the  French  j  min(lj  an(i  which  he  would  fain  proclaim  the 
evolution   now   offered   to    the    public    is  ;  orjerofan  otherwise  mysterious  providence. 


Re 

printed  on  VERY  LARGE  TYl'E,  on- good 
paper,  and  contains  upwards  of 

Eighteen  Hundred  Large  Octavo  Pages, 


\  order  of  ar 

The  two  brothers  SCHLEGEL — William,  the 
noble  interpreter  and  translator  of  Shaks- 
peare,  and  Frederic,  known  best  by  his  in- 


. st  by  everybody 

HISTORY    OF    FRANCE       >  ordinary   reading    of    ancient  and   modern 
from  the  commencement  of  the  French  Re-  <  poetry.    Distinct  from  all  the  rest  stand  WIE- 
volution   down  to  the  death  of  Napoleon.        'LAND  and  JKAN  PAUL  RICIITER,  best  known 
***  Also  a  fine  Edition  with  IS  steel  En-    in  this  country  by  the  appellation  of  JEAM 
gravings,  2  vols.,  Extra  Gilt,  $3. 


A.  HART'S  NEW  WORKS. 


RECENTLY  PUBLISHED, 

IN    TWO  VOLUMES,   POST    8vO.,  WITH    PORTRAITS,   CLOTH,   EXTRA  GILT,   $2. 

MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

COURT  OF  MARIE  ANTOINETTE, 

(QUEEN    OF   FRANCE.) 

BY    MADAME    CAMPAN. 

First  Lady  of  the  Bed-chamber  to  the  Queen. 

With  a  Biographical  Introduction  from  "  The  Heroic  Women  of  the 
French  Revolution." 

BY    M.    DB    LAMARTINE. 


OPINIONS  OF  THE  PRESS.  . 

"THE  book  is  a  noble  defence  of  Marie  An-  <  that  ever  shared  the  honours  of  royalty, 
toinette  against  the  many  calumnies  breathed  >  Compiled  by  oue  every  way  competent  by 
against  her.  Moreover,  as  a  picture  of  man-  >  talent  and  education,  and  qualified  by  per- 
ners  during  the  latter  years  of  Louis  XV.,  >  sonal  familiarity,  the  facts  are  entitled  to  the 


and  the  entire  reign  of  his  successor,  it  has 
no  superior;  it  is  at  once  more  decent  and 
more  veracious  than  the  '  Life  of  Dubarry,' 
and  the  thousand  other  garbled  memoirs  of 
that  period.  A  large  number  of  notes,  ex 
planatory  and  otherwise,  accompany  the 
volume,  and  add  materially  to  its  value. 
Mr.  Hart  has  published  the  book  in  a  style 
of  great  elegance,  and  illustrated  it  with 
portraits,  on  steel,  of  Marie  Antoinette  and 
Madame  Elizabeth.  It  is  a  book  that  should 
find  a  place  on  every  lady's  centre-table." — 
Weal's  Gazette. 

'•Two  very  interesting  volumes,  which  the 
reader  will  not  be  likely  to  leave  till  he  has 
finfshed  them." — Public  Lc<l<jt>r. 


confidence  of  the  reader,  while  the  style  is 
piquant  and  graceful.  The  work  is  got  up 
in  a  very  superior  style  of  mechanical  exe 
cution." — Baltimore  Sun. 

"We  have  seldom  perused  so  entertaining 
a  work — it  is  as  a  mirror  of  the  most  splendid 
court  of  Europe,  at  a  time  when  monarchy 
had  not  been  shorn  of  any  of  its  beams,  that 
it  is  particularly  worthy  of  our  attention." — 
Morning  Chronicle. 

''There  is  not  a  page  of  the  work  which  is 
not  deeply  or  amusingly  interesting.  The 
position  of  the  author  at  the  court  of  Louis 
XVI.  gave  hof  extraordinary  opportunities 
for  looking  behind  the  scenes  for  the  causes 
of  much  that  was  entirely  inexplicable  to 


'The  material  of  this  history  could  not  |  the  public.  Indi  ed,  there  can  be  no  qnes- 
havc  emanated  from  a  more  authentic  or  of- 1  tion  of  her  knowledge,  while  of  her  truthlul- 
ficial  source,  nor  have  been  honoured  with  a  \  ness,  as  far  as  she  goes,  there  is  abundant 
more  distinguished  or  capable,  god-father  <  evidence  in  the  volumes  themselves.  We 
than  De  Lauiartine." — S<iturday  Courier.  \  cannot  believe  Marie  Antoinette  to  have 
"These  elegant  volumes  are  a  reprint  from  ]  been  as  immaculate  as  ?he  is  painted  by 
the  third  London  edition  of  this  very  delight-  (  Madame  Campan.  Young,  giddy,  inexperi- 
ful  work.  The  vicissitudes  depleted  in  the  >  enced  and  wilful,  she  was  cast  headlong  into 
Tolumes,  and  scarcely  less  the  charming  j  the  most  profligate  court  of  Christendom, 
style  of  the  author  and  the  entire  familiarity  >  Surrounded  by  pleasures  and  temptations, 
of  her  theme,  make  the  work  one  of  the  most  5  amid  a  set  of  beings  to  whom  gallantry  waa 
interesting  that  has  recently  issued  from  the  so  habitual  that  it  ceased  to  be  remarked — 


American  press,  and  no  less  instructive  and 
entertaining." — A".  I~.  Oommercinl  Adwrt/uer. 
'This   delightful    work,    abounding   with 


nth  nn  impotent  husband,  and  with  all 
around  him  corrupt,  venal,  and  licentious, 
we  cannot  believe  that  all  the  scandalouH 


historical  incidents  connected  with  one  of  the  \  stories  respecting  the  queen  were  entirely 
most  stirring  periods  of  French  history,  pre- )  without  foundation,  that  she  was  ulwayt 
scuts  the  reader  with  the  personal  annals  of  >  misconstrued  and  inaligued." — Boston  Morn- 
one  of  the  most  amiable  and  excellent  women  j  ing  rust. 


A.  HART'S   STANDARD   WORKS. 
THE     MODERN    BRITISH    ESSAYISTS 

At  less  tlian  Half  Price. 

The  great  success  that  has  attended  the  publication  of 

THE  MODERN  ESSAYISTS, 

Comprising  the  Critical  and  Miscellaneous  Writings  of  the  Most  Distinguished  Authors 
of  Modern  Times,  has  induced  the  publishers  to  issue  a  New,  Revised  and  very  Cheap 
Edition,  with  Finely  Engraved  Portraits- of  the  Authors;  and  while  they  have  ndiled  to 
the  series  the  writings  of  several  distinguished  authors,  they  have  reduced  the  price  more 
than 

ONE  HAtF. 

The  writings  of  each  author  will  generally  be  comprised  in  a  single  octaxyo  volume, 
well  printed  from  new  type,  on  fine  white  paper'manufactured  expressjy  for  this  edition. 
The  series  will  contain  all  the  most  able  papers  that  have  KVER  APPEARED  IN 

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It  isonly  necessary  to  mention  the  names  of  the  authors  whose  writings  will  appear.  T. 
BABINGTON  MACAULAY,  ARCHIBALD  ALISON,  REV.  SYDNEY  SMITH,  PROFESSOR  WILSOW, 
JAMES  STEPHEN.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT.  LORD  JKFFREY,  SIR  JAMES  MACK- 
INTO'.H,  T.  NOON  TALFOURD.  J.  G.  LOCKHART,  REG  VALD  HEBER. 

Tite  popularity  of  the  authors  and  the  extreme  moderation  of  the  price,  recommend 

THE    MODERN    ESSAYISTS, 

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To  MANAGERS  OF  COOK  SOCIETIES.  Book  Clubs,  £.c. 

To  SCHOOL  INSPECTORS.  SCHOOLMASTERS  AND  TUTORS,  as  suitable  gifts  and  prizes,  or 
8  lapted  for  School  Libraries. 

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read  on  the  road,  adapted  to  fill  a  corner  in  a  portmanteau  or  carpet-bag 

To  PASSENGERS  <>N  HOARD  A  SHIP,  here  are  ample  materials  in  a  narrow  compass  for 
whiling  away  the' monotonous  hours  of  a  sea  voyage. 

To  OFFICERS  IN  THE  AKMY  AND  NAVY,  and  to  all  Economists  in  apace  or  pocket,  who, 
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To  ALL  WHO  HAVE  FRIENDS  IN  DISTANT  COTTN'TRiKS,  as  an  acceptable  present  to  send 
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THE  MOD 'UN  ESSAYISTS  will  yield  to  the  Settler  in  the  Backwoods  of  America  the  most 
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than  one  quarter  the  price  they  could  be  obtained  in  any  other  form. 

THE  STUDENT  AND  LOVER  OF  LITERATURE  at  Home,  who  has  hitherto  been  compelled 
to  wade  through  volumes  of  Reviews  for  a  single  article,  may  now  become  possessed  of 
every  article  worth  reading  for  little  more  than  the  cost  of  the  annual  subscription. 

Ranke's  History  of  the  Popes,  Cowley  and 
Milton,  Mitford's  History  of  Greece,  The 
Athenian  Orators,  Comic  Dramatists  of  the 
Res'oration.  Lord  Holland,  Warren  Hast 
ings,  Frederic  the  Great,  Lays  of  Ancient 
Rome,  Madame  D'Arblay,  Addison,  Ba- 
WRITINGSOh  »  n-re's  Memoirs.  Montgomery's  Poems.  Civil 

THOMAS  BABINGTON   MACAULAY.  <  Disabilities  of  the  Jews,  Mill  on  Govern- 
Jn  One  Volume,  with  a  finely  enraid        merit,  Benllinrn's  Defence  of  Mill,  Utilita- 


X&ACAULAV. 

CRITICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS 


portrait,  from  an  original  picture 
by  Henry  Inman.     Cloth  Gilt. 

$'2  00. 

Contents. 

Mi'ton.  Machiavelli.  Dryden,  History, 
nallam's  Constitutional  History,  Southey's 
Colloquies  on  Society.  Moore's  Life  of  By 
ron.  Southey's  Bunyah'p  Pilgrim's  Progress. 
Crokcr's  Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson,  Lord 
Nuffent's  Memoirs  of  Hampden.  Nare's  Me 
moirs  of  Ixird  Burghley,  Dumont's  Recol 
lections  cf  Mirabrnn.  Lord  Mahon's  War  of 
the  Succession,  Walpole's  Letters  to  Sir  H. 
Mann,  TrutcKaray's  H'storv  of  Karl  Chat 
ham. .Lord  liacon'.  \Tackmtosns  History  of 


r  an  Theory  of  Government,  and  Earl  Chat 
ham,  second  part,  Ac. 

"  Tt  may  now  be  asked  by  some  sapient 
critic*.  Why  make  all  this  coil  about  a  mere 
period. PI  1  essayist?  Of  what  possible  con 
cern  is  it  tc  anybody,  whether  Mr.  Thomas 
Babingtoiv  Aiacaulay  be,  or  be  not,  overrun 
with  faults,  sirce  he  is  nothing  more  than 
one  of  the  three-day  immortals  who  contri 
bute  flashy  and  '  taking'  articles  to  a  Quar 
terly  Review?  What  great  work  has  he 
written?  Such  qu?s;iuus  as  these  might  be 
put  by  the  same  men  who  place  the  Specta 
tor.  Tuttler  and  Ramh.er  among  the  British 
classics,  yet  judge  of  the  size  of  a  cotcmpo- 
rarv'a  mind  by  that  of  his  book,  and  who 


thr  H<  volution  of  England,  Sir  John  Mai-  }  can  narcny  rec-og-nize  amplitude  of  compre- 
colm's  Life  of  Lord  dive.  Life  and  Writings  5  hension,  unless  it  be  spread  over  the  six 
Of  S-r  W.  Temple,  Church  and  Slate,  5  hundred  pages  of  octavos  ami 


A.  HART'S   STANDARD    WORKS. 


Such  men  would  place  Bancroft  above  Web 
ster,  and  SparKs  above  Jalhoun.  Adams  and 
Kverett  —  deny  a  posterity  for  Bryant's  Fha- 
natopsis,  and  predict  longevity  to  Pollok's 
Course  of  Time.  It  is  singular  that  the  sa 
gacity  which  can  detect  thought  only  m  a 
state  of  dilution?  is  not  saiWy  graveled  when 
it  thinks  of  the  sententious  aphorisms  which 
have  survived  whole  libraries  of  folios,  and 
the  little  songs  wh  ch  have  outrun,  in  the 
race  of  fame,  so  many  enormous  epics.  — 
While  it  can  easily  be  demonstrated  that 
Maeaulav's  writings  contain  a  hundred-fold 
more  mailer  and  thought,  than  an  equal 
number  of  volumes  taken  from  what  are 
c:i  lle.d.  par  eminence,  the  'British  Essay 
ists,'  it  is  not  broaching  any  literary  heresy 
10  piedict,  that  they  will  sail  as  far  down 
the  stream  of  time,  as  those  eminent  mem 
bers  of  the  illustrious  family  of  British  elas 
tics."  - 


ALISON. 


THE  CRITICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS 

WRITINGS  OF 
ARCHIBALD  ALISON, 

AUTHOR  OF  "  THE  HISTORY  OF  EUROPE," 

In  One   Volume,  8vo    with  a  portrait. 
Price  «1  25. 

CONTENTS. 

.  Chateaubriand,  Napoleon.  Bossuet,  Po 
land,  Madame  de  Stael,  National  Monu 
ments,  Marshal  Ney,  Robert  Bruce,  Paris 
in  1814,  The  Lourfe  in  1814,  Tyrol.  France 
in  1SJ:{,  Italy,  Scott,  Campbell  and  Byron,. 
Schools  of  Design.  Lamartine,  The  Copy-  ' 
nght  Question.  Miclielet's  France,  Military 
Treason  and  Civic  Soldiers.  Arnold's  Rome, 
Mirabeau.  Bulwer's  Athens.  The  Reign  of 
Terror.  The  French  Revolution  of  1--30, 
The  Fall  of  Turkey,  The  Spanish  Revolu- 
.on  of  1S20.  Karamsm's  Russia.  Effects  of 
.he  French  Revolution  of  I8'!0,  Desertion  of 
.Portugal,  Wellington,  Carlist  Struggle  in 
Spain.  The  ArTghanista-i  Expedition,  The 
Future,  &c.  &e.  - 

m. 


THE  WORKS  OF  THE 

REV.  SYDNEY  SMITH. 

Fine  Edition.     In  One  Volume,  with  a 
portrait.     Price  &1   00 

"  Almost  every  thing  he  has  written  is  so 
characteristic  that  it  would  be  difficult  to 
attribute  it  to  any  other  num.  The  marked 
individual  features  and  the  rare  combina 
tion  of  powpr  displayed  in  Ins  works,  give 
them  a  fascination  unconnected-  with  the 
•ubjectof  which  he  treatsor  ihn.  general  cor 
rectness  of  his  views.  Her  sometimes  hits 
the  mark  in  the  white,  he  sometimes  misses 
it  altogether,  for  he  by  no  means  confines 
Ins  pen  to  theories  to  which  he  is  calculated 
to  do  just'ce;  out  whether  he  hits  or  misses, 
he  is  always  sparkling  and  delightful.  The 
charm  of  his  writings  is-somevvhai  similar 
to  that  of  Montaigne  or  Charlus  LaiuL>  :;— 
North.  American  Rn-iew, 


WXI&ON. 

THE  RECREATIONS  OF 

CHRISTOPHER  NORTH, 

In  One  Volume  8vo.,  first  American  Edition 
with  a  Portrait.     Price  81  00. 

CONTENTS. 

Christopher  in  his  Sporting  Jacket— A 
Tale  of  Expiation — Morning  Monologue — 
The  Field  ot  Flowers— Cottages—  An  Hour's 
Talk  about  Poetry— Inch  Cruin—A  Day  at 
Wmdermere—  The  Moors — Highland  Snow- 
Storm— The  Holy  Child— Our  Parish— May- 
day— Sacred  Poeuy— Christopher  in  his 
Aviary— Dr.  Kitchiner— Soliloquy  on  the 
Seasons— A  Few  Words  on  Thomsoir— 
The  Snowball  Bicker  of  Piedmont — Christ 
mas  Dreams — Our  Winter  Quarters— Strol1 
to  Grafsmere— L'Fnvoy. 

Extract  from  Howitfs  «  Rural  Life." 

"And  not  less  for  that  wonderful  series 
of  articles  by  Wilson,  in  Blackwood's 
Maga/ine—  in  their  kind  as  truly  amazing 
find  as  truly  glorious  as  the  ro/manres  of 
Scott  or  the  poetry  of  Wordsworth.  Far  and 
wide  and  much  as  these  papers  have  been 
admired,  wherever  the  Eng-lish  language  is 
read,  I  still  question  whether  any  one  man 
has  a  just  idea  of  them  as  a  whole." 

V. 

Carlyle's  lYIiscellanies, 
CRITICAL  AMHHSCELIANEOIS 

ESSAYS   OF 
THOMAS  CARLVLE. 

In  one  Svo.  volume,  with  a  Portrait. 

PRICK  SI  75. 
CONTENTS. 

Jean  Paul  Friedrich  Richter— State  of 
German  Literature  —  Werner  —  Goethe's 
Helena— Goethe— Burns— Heyne— German 
Playwrights— Voltaire— Novalis— Signs  of 
the  Times— Jean  Paul  Friedrich  Richter 
again- On  History— Schiller— The  Nihel- 
Inngen  Lied— Early  German  Literature — 
Taylor's  Historic  Survey  01  German  Poetry 
—  Characteristics-  Johnson— Death  of  Go 
ethe—Goethe's  Works-  Diderot—  On  His 
tory  again— Count  Cagliostro— Corn  Law 
Rhymes- The  Diamond  Necklace- Mira- 
beau—  French  Parliamentary  History- 
Walter  Scott,  &c.  &c. 

VI. 
TALFOTJRD  St.  STEPHEN 

THE  CRITICAL  WRITINGS 

OF 

T.  NOON  TALFOURD 

AND 

JAMES  STEPHEN 

WITH  A  FINELY  ENGRAVED  PORTRAIT. 

In  One  Volume,  8vo.     Pnee  $1  '25. 


A.  HART'S   STANDARD    WORKS. 


Contents  of  "  Tatfourd." 

Essays  on  British  Novels  and  Romances, 
introductory  to  a  series  of  Criticisms  on  the 
Living  Novelists  — Mackenzie,  The  Author 
of  Waverley,  Godwin,  Maturin,  Rymjfr  on 
Tragedy,  Colley  Cibber's  Apology  for  his 
Life,  John  Dennis's  Works,  Modern  Pe- 
riodic-al  Literature,  On  the  Genius  and 
Writings  of  Wordsworth,  North's  Life  of 
Lord  Guilford,  Ha/lilt's  Lectures  on  the 
Drama,  Wallace's  Prospects  of  Mankind, 
Nature  and  Providence,  On  Pulpit  Ora 
tory,  Recollections  of  Lisbon,  Lloyd's 
Poems.  Mr  Oldaker  on  Modern  Improve 
ments,  A  Chapter  on  Time,  On  the  Profes 
sion  of  the  Bar,  The  Wine  Cellar,  Destruc 
tion  of  the  Brunswick  Theatre  by  Fire, 
First  Appearance  of  Miss  Fanny  Kemble. 
On  the  Intellectual  Character  of  the  late 
Win.  Hazlitt. 

Contents  of  "  Strphnn." 

Life  of  Wilberforce.Lifeof  \\hitfield  and 
Froude,  D' Aubigne's  Reformation,  Life  and 
Times  of  Baxter,  Physical  Theory  of  Ano 
ther  Life,  The  Port  Royalists,  Ignatius  Loy 
ola,  Taylor's  Edwin  the  Fair. 

"  His  (Talfourd's)  Critical  writings  mani 
fest  on  every  page  a  sincere,  earnest  and 
sympathizing  love  of  intellectual  excel 
lence  and  moral  beauty.  The  kindliness 
of  temper  and  tenderness  of  sentiment  with 
which  they  are  animated,  are  continually 
suggesting  pleasant  thoughts  of  the  author." 
—  North  American  Review. 

VII. 

LORD  JEFFHE1T. 

THE  CRITICAL  WRITINGS 

OF 

FRANCIS  LORD  JEFFREY. 

In  One  Volume  8vo.,  with  a  Portrait. 

From  a  very  able  article  in  the  North 
British  Review  we  extract  the  following: 

"It  is  a  book  not  to  be  read  only— but 
studied— it  is  a  vast  repository;  or  rather 
a  system  or  institute,  embracing  the  whole 
circle  of  letters — if  we  except  the  exact 
sciences— and  contains  within  itself,  not  in 
a  desultory  form,  but  in  a  well  digested 
scheme,  more  original  conceptions,  bold 
and  fearless  speculation  and  just  reasoning 
on  all  kinds  and  varieties  of  subjects  than 
are  to  be  found  in  any  English  writer  with 
whom  we  are  acquainted  within  the  pre 
sent  or  the  last  generation.  *  *  *  His 
choice  of  words  is  unltouuded  and  his  feli 
city  of  expression,  to  the  most  impalpable 
shade  of  discrimination,  almost  miraculous. 
Playfii.,  lively,  and  full  of  illustration,  no 
subject  is  so  dull  or  so  dry  that  he  cannot 
invest  it  with  interest,  and  none  so  trifling 
that  it  cannot  acquire  dignity  or  elegance 
from  his  pencil.  Independently  however, 
of  mere  style,  and  apart  from  the  great 
variety  of  subjects  embraced  by  his  pen, 
tlj*1,  distinguishing  feature  of  his  writings, 
and  Uiat  in  which  he  excels  his  coternpo- 
rfery  reviewers,  js  the  deep  vein  of  practical 
Uiought  which  runs  throughout  them  all  " 


VIIT 

SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH, 

SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S 
CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   THE   EDIN 
BURGH  REVIEW, 

Collected  and  Edited  by  his  Son. 
In  One  Volume  8vo.,  with  a  Portrait,  fl  75. 


THE    POEMS 

OP 

FRANCES  SARGENT  OSGOOD, 

6g  tfa  fast  arti'sts. 


In  one,  volume  octavo,  uniform  with  Carey  c6 
Hart's  illustrated  Bryant,  Willis,  (£c. 

The  following  exquisitely  finished  line  en 
gravings  are  from  original  designs,  by  our 
most  celebrated  painters,  and  are  executed  in 
the  highest  style  of  art: — Portrait  of  the  Au 
thoress;  Hope;  A  Child  playing  with  a 
Watch;  TheKeaper;  Ida;  Old  Friends;  The 
Child's  Portrait;  Little  Red  Hiding  Hood; 
The  Life  Boat;  Twilight  Hours;  The  Arab 
and  his  Steed  ;  Zuleika. 

"There  is  nothing  mechanical  about  her; 
all  is  buoyant,  overflowing,  irrepressible  vi- 
vacity,  like  the  bubbling  up  of  a  natural 
fountain.  In  her  almost  childish  playful 
nese,  she  reminds  us  of  that  exquisite  crea 
tion  of  Fouque,  Undine,  who  knew  no  law 
but  that  of  her  own  waywardness.  The  great 
charm  of  her  poetry  is  its  unaffected  simpli 
city.  It  is  the  transparent  simplicity  --f  truth, 
reflecting  the  feeling  of  the  moo.  -nt  like  a 
mirror." — liev.  Dr.  Davidson. 

"In  all  the  poems  of  Mrs.  Osgood,  we  find 
occasion  to  admire  the  author  as  well  as  Jhe 
works.  Her  spontaneous  and  instinctive  effu 
sions  appear,  in  a  higher  degree  than  any 
others  in  our  literature,  to  combine  the  rarest 
and  highest  capacities  in  art  with  the  since  rest 
and  deepest  sentiments  and  the  noblest  aspi 
rations.  They  would  convince  us,  if  the 
beauty  of  her  life  wore  otherwise  unknown, 
that  Mrs.  Osgood  is  one  of  the  loveliest  cha 
racters  in  the  histories  of  literature  or  so 
ciety." — Pennsylvania  Inr/iiin>r  and  Courier. 

"  The  position  of  Mrs.  O.sgpod,  ax  a  graceful 
and  womanly  poetess,  is  fixed,  and  will  be 
enduring.  To  taste  of  faultless  delicacy,  a 
remarkable  command  of  poetical  language, 
great  variety  of  cadence,  and  a  most  musical 
versification,  she  has  added  recently  the  high 
est  qualities  of  inspiration,  imagination,  and 
passion,  in  a  degree  rarely  equalled  in  the 
productions  of  women.  .  . .  The  reputation 
which  Mrs.  Osgood  enjoys,  as  one,  of  the  most 
amiable,  true-hearted,  and  brilliant  ladies  in 
American  society,  will  add  to  the  good  for 
tune  of  a  book,  the  intrinsic  excellence  and 
beauty  of  which  will  secure  for  it  a  plane 
among  the  standard  creations  of  female  ({9. 
niiis  " — Home  Journal. 

9  >V. 


A.  HART'S   STANDARD   WORKS 
POETICAL  LIBRARY. 

THE    POETS   AND  POETRY    OF 
EUROPE,  ENGLAND,  AMERICA,  Etc. 

CAREY  &  HART  have  just  published  in  four  »j»!* 

and  uniform  in  si/.e  with  their  new  edition  of  "  T 
forming  a  suitable  companion  to  tkat  delightful  series: 


TUP] 

POETS  AND  POETRY  OF  AMERICA? 

EMBBACING        ^ 

Selections    from     tlie     Poetical 

Literature      of    tlie     United 

States,  from  tlie  Time  of 

tlie  Revolution, 

WITH  A 

Preliminary  Essay  on  the  Progress  and 
Condition  of  Pottry  in   this  Coun 
try,  and  Biographical  and  Cri 
tical  Notices  of  the  most 

eminent  Poets. 
BY  RUFUS  W.  GRISWOLD. 

EIGHTH  EDITION,  REVISED  AND  ENLARGED. 

Elegantly  bound  in  Col'd  Calf  and  Morocco. 
Price  *5  00,  or  in  Cloth  Gilt,  $3  UU 

"  We  think  in  the  500  pages  of  this  ueau 
tiful  volume,  the  reader  will  fiud  near'v  all 
that  is  worth  reading  in  American  Poeay 
. — Boston  Post. 

"Mr.  G  has  done  a  service  to  our  litera 
ture  which  eminently  entitles  him  to  the  re 
gard  and  favor  of  a  discerning  and  impartial 
puMic." — National  Intelligencer. 

"  No  better  selection  from  the  poetry  of 
our  native  bards  has  ever  been  made,  and 
no  person  could  do  better  with  the  mate 
rials  than  Mr.  Griswold  has  done."— Boston 
Transcript. 

THF, 

POETS  AND  POETRY  OF  EUROPE: 

WITH 

lUograpliical  Notices  and 
Translations, 

From  the  Earliest  Period  to  tht  Present 

Time 

BY  HENRY  W.  LONGFELLOW. 
In  One  Large  8vo.  Volume,  750  Pages. 
Morocco  elegant,  $5  50,  or  cloth  gilt,  $3  75. 
Which  comprises  translations  from  the  fol- 
iowing:  Anglo-Saxon.  Icelandic,  Swe 
dish,  Dutch,  German,  French.  Ita 
lian,  Spanish,  Portuguese,  &c. 

"  It  is  the  most  complete  work  of  the  kind 
in  English  literature  "—Boston  Courier. 

"  A  more  desirable  work  for  the  scholar 
or  man  of  taste  has  scarcely  ever  bci-n  is- 
iuedmtho  United  States."— N.  Y.  Tribunt 
10 


ILLUSTRATED  POEMS. 

BY  MRS,  L  H,  SIGOURNEY, 

With  Designs  by  F.  O.  C.  Darley, 

ENGRAVED  BY  DISTINGUISHED  ARTISTS. 

With  a  Portrait  of  the  Authoress  by  Cheney 
after  Freeman. 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

The  Divided  Burden — A  Landscape — Oris- 
kar— The  Ancient  Family  Clock— Eve— The 
Scottish  Weaver — The  Indian  Summer — 
Erin's  Daughter — The  Western  Emigrant — 
The  Aged  Pastor— The  Tomb— The  Drooping 
Team— The  Beautiful  Maid. 

"The  volume  is  a  most  luxurious  and  gor 
geous  one,  reflecting  the  highest  credit  on 
its  'getters  up;'  and  we  know  of  nothing 
from  the  American  press  which  would  form 
a  more  acceptable  gift-book,  or  a  richer  orna 
ment  for  the  centre-table.  Of  the  Poems 
themselves  it  is  needless  fo  speak." — Y.Blade. 

"In  the  arts  of  typography  the  volume  ia 
unsurpassed;  the  illustrations  are  numerous 
and  beautiful,  and  the  binder's  skill  has  done 
its  best.  We  shall  speak  only  of  the  exter 
nals  of  the  volume.  Of  its  contents  we  will 
not  speak  flippantly,  nor  is  it  needful  that 
we  should  say  any  thing.  The  name  of  Mrs. 
Sigourney  is  familiar  in  every  cottage  in 
America.  She  has,  we  think,  been  more 
generally  read  than  any  poetess  in  the  coun 
try,  and  her  pure  fame  is  reverently  cherished 
by  all." — N.  0.  Picayune. 

"It  is  illustrated  in  the  most  brilliant 
manner,  and  is  throughout  a  gem-volume."— 
Pa.  Inquirer. 

'•In  this  production,  however,  they  have 
excelled  themselves.  The  illustrations  are 
truly  beautiful,  and  are  exquisitely  engraved. 
The  entire  execution  of  the  volume  is  a  proud 
evidence  of  the  growing  superiority  of  book- 
making  on  the  part  of  American  publishers." 
— Dollar  Newspaper. 

"This  work,  so  beautifully  embellished, 
and  elegantly  printed,  containing  the  select 
writings  of  one  of  the  most  celebrated  female 
poets  of  America,  cannot  fail  to  be  received 
with  approbation." — Newbftrypoft  I'n^-r. 

"The  illustrations  are  iruly  beautiful,  and 
are  exquisitely  engraved.  They  *re  from 
designs  by  Darley,  who  has  rison  to  high 
eminence  in  hi«  department  of  art.  The  en 
tire  execution  of  the  volume  is  a  proud  evi 
dence  of  growing  superiority  in  book-making 
on  the  part  of  American  publishers.  Anu 
this  liberality  has  not  been  displayed  upon  a 
work  unworthy  of  it." — Xf.Y.CommtrcialAda* 


NEW    BOOKS 

RECENTLY    PUBLISHED    BY 

A,  HART,  late  CAREY  &  HART, 

No.  126  Chestnut  Street,  Pldladdpliia. 


HISTORICAL  AND  SECRET  MEMOIRS     PROSE  WRITERS  OF  GERMANY, 


OF  THE 

EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE, 

(Marie  Rose  Tascher  de  la  Fagerie,) 
FIRST    WIFE   OF   NAPOLEON   BONAPAKTE- 

BY  MLLE.  M.  A.  LE  NORMAND. 

Translated  from  the   French  by  Jacob   M. 

Howard,  Esq 

In  2  vols.,  700  pages,  muslin  extra  gilt 

"it  possesses  great  intrinsic  interest.  It 
is  a  chequered  exhibition  of  the  itndress  life 
of  Napoleon.  All  the  glitter  and  pomp  and 
dust  of  glory  which  bewilder  the  mind  is 
laid;  and  we  behold  not  the  hero,  the  em 
peror,  the  guide  and  moulder  of  destiny, 
but  a  poor  sickly  child  and  creature  of  cir 
cumstance—affrighted  by  shadows  and  tor 
tured  by  straws."—  Philada.  City  Item. 

"This  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  works 
of  the  day,  containing  a  multiplicity  of  in 
cidents  in  the 'life  of  Josephine  and  her  re 
nowned  husband,  which  have  never  before 
been  in  print." — N.  O.  Times. 

"This  is  a  work  of  high  and  commanding 
interest,  and  derives  great  additional  value 
from  the  fact  asserted  by  the  authoress,  that 
the  greater  portion  of  it  was  written  by  the 
empress  herself.  It  has  a  vast  amount  of 
information  on  the  subject  of  Napoleon's 
career,  with  copies  of  original  documents 
not  to  be  found  elsewhere,  and  with  copious 
nott-s  at  the  end  of  the  work." — N.  0  Com. 
Bulletin 

'•Affords  the  reader  a  clearer  insight  into 
the  private  character  of  Napoleon  than  he 
can  obtain  through  any  other  source." — 
Baltimore  American. 

"They  are  agreeab'y  and  well  written ; 
and  it  would  be  strange  if  it  were  not  so, 
enjoying  as  Josephine  did,  familiar  collo 
quial  intercourse  with  the  most  distinguish 
ed  men  and  minds  of  the  age.  The  work 
does  not.  apparently,  suffer  by  translation." 
—  Baltimore  Patriot. 

"  It  is  the  history— in  part  the  secret  his 
tory,  wr.t'en  by  her  own  hand  with  rare 
elegance  and  force,  and  at  times  with  sur 
passing  pathos— of  the  remarkable  woman 
who.  by  the  greatness  of  her  spi  nt  was  wor 
thy  to  be  the  wife  of  the  soaring  Napoleon. 
It  combines  all  the  vnlue  of  authentic  his 
tory  wi'h  tlie  absorbing  interest  of  an  auto 
biography  or  exciting  romance." — Item,. 


BY  FREDERICK  H.  HEDGE. 

ILLUSTRATED  WITH  EIGHT  PORTRAITS  AND  AH 

ENGRAVED  T1TLE-PA~GE,  FROM  A   DESIGN 

BY  LEUTZE. 

Complete  in  One  Volume  Octavo. 

Contents. 

Luther,  Bojhme.  Sancta  Clara,  Moser, 
Kahl.  Leasing,  Mendelssohn,  Harnann,Wie« 
land,'  Musiius,  Claudius,  Lavater,  Jacobi, 
Herder,  Grethe,  Schiller.  Fichte,  Richter, 
A.  W.  Schlegel,  Schleiermacher,  Hegel, 
Zschokke,  F.  Schlegel.  Hardenberg,  Tieck, 
Schellmg,  Hoffmann,  Chatnisso. 

"The  author  of  this  work — for  it  is  well 
entitled  to  the  name  of  an  original  produc 
tion,  though  mainly  consisting  of  transla 
tions—Frederick  H.  Hedge  of  Bangor,  \» 
qualified,  as  few  men  are  in  this  country, 
or  wherever  the  English  language  is  writ 
ten,  for  the  successful  accomplishment  of 
the  great  literary  enterprise  to  which  he  has 
devoted  his  leisure  for  several  years. 

"Mr.  Hedge  has  displayed  great  wisdom 
in  the  selection  of  the  pieces  to  be  trans- 
lated;  he  has  given  the  best  specimens  of 
the  best  authors,  so  far  as  was  possible  in 
his  limited  soace. 

"  We  ve'.-ture  to  say  that  there  cannot  be 
crowded  into  the  same  compass  a  more 
faithful  representation  of  the  German  mind, 
or  a  richer  exhibition  of  the  profound 
/thought,  subtle  speculation,  massive  learn 
ing  and  genial  temper,  that  characterize  the 
most  eminent  literary  men  of  that  nation." 
—  Harbinger. 

"  What  excellent  matter  we  here  have. 
The  choicest  gems  of  exuberant  fancy,  the 
most  polished  productions  of  scholarship, 
the  richest  flow  of  the  heart,  the  deepest 
lessons  of  wisdom,  all  translated  so  well  by 
Mr  Hi-dge  and  his  friends,  that  they  seem 
to  have  been  first  written  by  masters  jf  tha 
English  tongue." — The  City  Ittm. 

'•  We  have  read  the  book  w  th  rare  plea 
sure,  and  have  derived  not  less  information 
than  enjoyment." — Knickerbocker. 

"The  selections  are  judicious  aH  tasteful, 
the  biographies  well  wnttec   ana  compre 
hensive." — Inquirer 
11 


NEW  BOOKS  PUBLISHED  BY  A.  HART. 


NAPOLEON 

THE  MARSHALS  OF  THE  EMPIRE, 

Complete  in  2  vols.  12mo., 

With  1<>  Steel  Portraits  in  Military  Costume. 

Contents* 

Napoleon,  Jourdan.  Serruner,  Lannes, 
Brune,  IVrignon,  Oudinot,  Soult,  Davoust, 
Massena.  Alurat.  Mortier,  Ney,  Poniatow- 
ek..  Grouchy,  Bessieres.  Berthier,  Souchet, 
St  Cyr,  Victor,  Moncey,  Marmont,  Mac- 
donald,  Bemadotle,  Augereau,  Lefebvre, 
Kellermami. 

The  biographies  are  twenty-seven  in 
ftumber  —  Napoleon  and  his  twenty-six 
marshals,  being  all  those  created  by  him — 
and  therefore  these  pages  have  a  complete 
ness  about  them  which  no  other  work  of  a 
similar  design  possess 


)the  charm  of  the  narrative  continues  mv 

<  broken  to  'he  end."— City  Item 

!      "The  publisher*  huve  spared  no  pains  or 
expense  in  us  production,  and  the  best  talent 

<  in  the  country  has  been  engaged  on  its  va 
rious  histories.    The  style  is  plain  and  gra 
phic,  and  the  reader  feels  that  he  is  perusing 
true  history  rather  than  the  ramblingsol  a 
romantic  mind."—  Lady's  Book. 

"The  resultof  these  joint  labors  is  a  series 
of  narratives,  in  which  the  events  succeed 
each  other  so  rapidly,  and  are  of  so  marvel 
ous  a  cast,  as  to  require  only  the  method  in 
arrangement  and  the  good  taste  in  descrip 
tion  which  they  have  received  from  the 
hands  of  their  authors.  The  inflated  and 
the  Ossianic  have  been  happily  avoided." — 
Colonization  Herald. 

"  Their  historical  accuracy  is  unimpeach 
able,  and  many  of  them  (the  b  ograpi.ies 


are  Damped  with  originality  of  thought 


The  style  is  clear  ard  comprehensive, 


he  stye  is  cear  ar     compreensve,  . 

and  the  book  may  be  relied  upon  for  histo-    wh"e  paper,  ai  d  substantial 
rical  accuracy,  as  the  materials  have  been    deserves  a  place  in  all  fami 


,ies) 

-,          -  ~      and 

opinion.    The  engravings  are  numerous  and 
-  ry  tine.    The  book  is  well  printed  on  fine 
*  substantially   liound.     It 
ly  and  school 
libraries." — Bulletin. 

,»,  w~.., *...»...».... ~. „.„„.., „..         "It  abounds  in  graphic  narratives  of  bat- 

tVoTonT'Gou7gaud7L1as"oa"ses''aiid'Dr"b'-  j  tlps'  anecdotes  of*  the  world-famed  actors, 
Meara  have  all  been  consulted  as  the  true    and  valuable  historical  information."—  Rich- 
basis   upon   which   the  lives  of  Napoleon 
and  his  commanders  under  him  should  be 
founded. 

"The  article  on  Napoleon,  which  occu 
pies  the  greater  part  of  the  first  volume,  is 
written  in  a  clear  and  forc-i!>le  style  and 


iracy 

diawn    from   sources  the    most  authentic. 
The  Conversations  of  Napoleon,  with  Won 


displays  marked  ability  in  the  author.  Par 
ticular  attention  has  been  paid  to  the  early 
portion  of  Napoleon's  life,  which  other  wri 
ters  have  hurriedly  dispatched  as  though 
they  were  impatient  to  arrive  at  the  opening 
glories  of  his  great  career." — JV.  Y.  Mirror. 

'•The  lives  of  the  Marshals  and  their 
Chief,  the  military  paladins  of  the  gorgeous 
modern  romance  of 

with  historic -accuracy  and  without  exag 
geration  of  fact,  style  or  language."  —Bal 
timore  Patriot. 

"  We  have  long  been  convinced  that  the 
character  of  Napoleon  would  never  receive, 
'even  handed  justice'  until  some  impartial 
and  intelligent  American  should  undertake 
the  task  ol  weighing  his  merits  and  deme 
rits.  In  the.  present  volume  this  has  been 
done  with  great  judgment.  We  do  not 
know  the  author  of  the  paper  on  Napoleon, 
but  whoever  he  may  be,  allow  us  to  say  to 
him  thai  he  has  executed  his  duty  better  than 
any  predecessor ."-  Evening  Bulletin. 

''The  style,  of  this  work  is  worthy  of  com 
mendation—plain,  pleasing  and  narrative, 
the  proper  style  of  history  and  biography 
in  which  the  reader  does  not  seek  fancy 
sketch --s.  and  dashing  vivid  pictures,  but 
what  the  work  professes  to  contain,  biogra 
phies.  We  commend  this  as  a  valuable 
library  book  worthy  of  preservation  as  a 
work  of  reference,  after  having  been  read." 
— Bnlt  Ameri-nn. 

"This  is  the  clearest,  most  concise,  and 
most  interesting 'life  of  Napoleon  and  his 
marshals  which  has  yet  been  given  to  the 


mond  Inquirer. 

"  We  receive,  therefore,  with  real  plea 
sure,  this  new  publication,  having  assurance 
that  great  pains  have  been  taken  in  the  pre 
paration  of  each  individual  biography,  and 
especially  in  collating  the  various  authori 


ties  upon  tne  early  histoiy  of  the  Emprror. 
There  appears  to  be  nowhere  any  aitempt 
to  blind  ihe  reader  by  dazzling  epithets,  and 
the  accuracy  of  construction  throughout  it 
highly  creditable  to  the  editor."—  Commer 
cial  Advertiser  t  N.  Y. 

"The  style  is  simplicity  itself,  wholly  free 
from  the  amusing  pomposity  and  absurd  iu- 

tlie'EmpireJ  are  given  ^flallou   tnal  distinguish  some  of  the  works 
acv  and  without  exasr-  <  which  have  gone  before  it." 


BRYANT'S     POEMS. 

ILLUSTRATED   BY    TWENTY    SUPERB    ENGRAVINGS, 

From  Designs  by  E.  LETJTZE, 

Expressly  for  this  Volume, 
ENGRAVED    BY    AMERICAN    ARTISTS, 

And  printed  <m  fine.  Vellum  paper. 
COMPLETE  IN  ONE  VOLUME  OCTAVO. 

Sixth  Edition.    (Just  ready.) 

Price  J?5  00  bnimd  in  warlrt,  gilt  edges ;  nr 

beautifully  bound  by  8.  Moore,  in  calf 

or  Turkey  morocco,  $7.00. 

"This  is  really  a  splendid  book,  and  one  of 
the  most  magnificent  of  Carey  &  Hart's  colloo 
tioii  of  "The  Illustrated  Poets."'—  U.  S.  Gat 

"The  « Retting  nj.'  of  this  edition  is  credit 
able  in  the  highest  degree  to  the  publisher! 
and  the  fine  arts  of  the  country.  The  paper 
binding,  and  the  engravings  are.  all  of  th« 


public.    Tne  arrangement  is  judicious  and    very  best  kiud."- -/nguiw  and  Courier. 
12 


NEW    BOOKS   PUBLISHED    BY   A.  HART. 
PETER   SCHLEMIHL. 


PETEFx  SCHLEMIHL  IN  AMERICA. 

Complete  in  One  Volume,  12/no. 

The  object  of  this  work  is  to  '  caich  the  s  shown  up.  and  the  morals  of  the  hook  HT* 

unexceptionable.  The  author  cannot  long 
escape  tle'ection,  in  sj-ite  of  his  shadowy 
concealment,  and  if  a  new  practitioner  he 


jump  to  the  head  of  his  profession  at 
>nc«>." — Godey's  Ladifs  Book. 
•'  We   are   prepared    to  say,   that  Poter 


manners  living  a*  they  rise'  in  connection 

with  the  antagonisms  of  the  present  day  — 

l'novilties  which  disturb  the  peace'1 — as  Swe- 

denborgianism,    Transcendentalism,     Fou- 

rierism,  and  other  isms.     The  author  has    i 

made  these  pages  the  vehicle  of  valuab'e1 

information  on  all  the  topics  of  which  he  UchlemihTV^Tx^ccedingly   clear*  and 

has  treated.  <  well-written  work  —  that    the   author   has 

"Peter,  as  our  readers  may  reco,ect,sn.ddl|ad  a  cons,derable  amount  of  book 
his  shadow  to  a  Gentleman  in  black,  and  lore  m  lts  composition-thai  the  story  is  in- 
upon  this  fable  the  Amencaa  adventures  leresting  and  instructive -that  we  hdve 
are  tounded.  The  author,  wnoever  ne  may  been  emertained  arid  edified  by  its  perusal, 
be  has  read  much,  and  oetn  a<  least  'a  aud  thal  i(  po,sse,ses  ments  of  more  than 
looker  on  in  Venice,'  -f  not  a  participator  5  ordinary  character.  We  cordially  recom- 
of  the  follies  of  fash-unable  life.  mend  it  to  the  readin£,  community,  since  we 

"  1  he   theological  and  optical  criticisrr.    are  sure  lhat  tn       w,j,  be  benefiued  as  weii 
18  inwoven  witt.  a  tale  of  fashionable  life,    as  enterta;ned  by  the  revelations  contained 
and  the  reader  become,  not  a  little  interest-    in  the  p          of  ^eter._rAe  National  Era. 
ed  in  ihe  heroine.  Mrs  Smith,  who  certainly  > 

must  have  been  a  lemarkable  woman.    H5     "A  strangely  conceived  and  ably  executed 
is  ne»uy  published,  and  will  be  extensively*  work."- aV.  O   Corn.  Times. 
read  i) Bulltl'ii.  \     "The  work  forms  a  consecutive  tale,  all 

"  \Ve  shai;  be  greatly  mistaken  if  this$  alon£  which  runs  a  vein  of  severe  satire, 
book  does  not  kick  up  a  whole  cloud  of,  aild  wlllcl1  at  every  step  is  illustrated  by  a 
dust  "-  'ihe  City  Item  <  vasl  deal  °f  valuable  information,  and  the 

''the  work  is  characterized  by  much?  inculcation  of  sound  principles  of  morality 
lea, nmg  and  sincere  feeling."- JV.y  Mirror.}  and  religion.  It  is  a  work  which  is  adapted 

"One  of  the  most  entertaining  works  we  > to  do  good,  suited  to  all  intelligent  general 
have  read  for  many  a  day,  as  well  as  one^  readers,  and  a  pleasant  companion  for  Ihe 
of  the  best  written.  Who  the  author  is  we  \  scholar's  leisure  hours."—  N.  Y.  Recorder. 
know  not;  but  we  do  know  that  the  book  5  "This  is  a  very  remarkable  production, 
will  meet  with  a  rapid  sale  wherever  an  £  and  unless  We  are  greatly  deceived,  it  is 
inkling  of  its  character  leaks  out.  For  <  from  a  new  hand  at  the  literary  forge.  We 
watering  places,  or  anywhere,  during  the  <  have  read  every  page  of  this  thick  volume, 
hot  weather,  it  is  worth  its  weight  in — gold  i  and  have  been  strongly  reminded  of  South- 
we  almost  said.  It  is  full  of  everything  ofj  ey's  great  book.  The  Doctor.  The  author  of 
the  best,  and  you  can  scarcely  open  it  atMhis  work  must  be  a  man  of  close  observa- 


randoin  without  striking  upon  some  sketch 
or  dialogue  to  enchain  the  attention." — Ger- 
mantown  Telegraph. 

"Uis  stock  of  knowledge  is  large;  and  as 
his  conscience  is  rectified  by  Christian 
principle,  and  his  heart  beats  in  unison 
with  the  right  and  the  true,  he  uses  his  trea 
sures  of  information  only  for  good  purposes. 

"Tli«*l>ook  belongs  to  that  class  of  novels 
which  make  an  interesting  story  the  me 
dium  for  the  communication  of  important 
truth.  In  many  respects  it  is  a  peculiar 
work,  differing  from  all  others  in  both  de 
sign  and  execution,  and  leaving  the  impres 
sion  that  it  is  the  product  of  a  mind  of  no 


ordinary  powe 
"Those  who  love  to  think  and/«eZ,  as  the 

result  of  truthful  thought,  will  read  the  book 


tion,much  research,  and  if  we  are  accurate 
in  our  estimate,  he  is  a  layman.  *  *  *  * 
This  same  hoik  will  make  a  sensation  in 
many  quarters,  and  will  unquestionably 
create  a  name  and  reputation  for  its  autl.  or, 
who  forthwith  takes  his  place  among  the 
best  and  keenest  writers  of  our  country.  *  * 
We  commend  it  to  the  gravest  and  gayest  <5/ 
our  readers,  and  assure  them  that  our  own 
copy  will  not  go  off  our  table  until  another 
winter  has  passed  away."  —  N.  Y.  Alliance 
and  Visitor. 

"The  volume  cannot  fail  to  be  read  exten 
sively  and  do  good  The  popular  'isms'  of 
the  day,  their  folly  and  injurious  tendency, 


are  descanted  upon  with  mingled  gravity 
and  humor,  and  considerable  la.ent  and 
truthful  feeling  are  shown  in  the  discus- 


with  interest  and  profit."  —  RtftectorJSf  Watch-)  sion.  Whether  me  book  have  an  immediate 
man.  {  run  or  not,  the  soundness  of  its  views,  deU- 

"A  rare  book.  Who  ir  the  world  wrote  ]  yered  with  some  qnaininess  of  style,  will 
It!  Here  are  nearly  five  hundred  pages  I  insure  it  permanent  popularity."  —  N.  York 
with  gems  on  every  one  of  them.  The  Commercial  Advertiser. 

satire  is  equal  to  that  of  Don  Quixote  or  '-Light,  sportive,  graceful  raillery,  ex- 
Asmodeus  The  hits  at  society  in  this  !  pressed  with  terse  and  delicate  ease.  **• 
country  are  admirable  and  well  pointed.)  "It  is  a  novel  of  fun,  with  grave  notes  by 
The  humbugs  of  the  day  are  skillfully  '  way  of  ballast."  —  Christian  Examiner. 

13 


PUBLISHED   BY  A.  HART. 

Now  ready,  in  1  vol.    post  8vo.,  price  &1  25-  with  Portraits, 

WASHINGTON  AND   THE  GENERALS   OF 
THE  REVOLUTION, 

BY  VARIOUS  EMINENT  AUTHORS. 

CONTAINING 

Biographical    Sketches   of  all   the   Jflafor  and   JSrig-adier    Generals 

tiho  acted  under  commtti*1on*  from  Congress  during- 

the  Revolutionary    War. 

WE  hail   these   beautiful  volumes  with  '/  name  of  any  author,  because  ;t  is  the  joint 


undisguised  delight.  They  supply,  in  a  dig 
nified  and  comprehensive  form,  valuable 
information,  winch  will  be  sought  with  avi 
dity,  not  only  by  the  American  public,  but 

by 'the  world  at  large.     The  want  of  a  work  £  in  privatfehands,  and  to  public  archives  not 

long  <  accessible  to   any  one   individual  without 

been  felt  and  deplored.^  The  enterprise  and  /  long  journey    and    much   consumption   of 

time.     The  result,  however,  is  a  complete 


of  positive  authority  on  this  subject  has  long  <  accessible  to   any 
been  felt  and  deplored.     The  enterprise  and 
good  taste  of  Messrs.  Carey  and  Hart  have 


production  of  many  of  the  most  eminent 
writers  in  the  country,  resident  in  various 
states  in  the  Union,  and  haying,  from  the 
circumstance,  access  to  original  materials 


hed  with  a  life-like  portrait  of  Washing 
n  mounted  on  his  charger,  from  Sully's 


grven  us  two  handsome  and  reliable  vo 
lumes,  betraying  industry  and  talent,  and 
replete  with  facts  of  the  deepest  interest. 
There  is  no  idle  romancing — no  school-boy 
attempts  at  rhetorical  display;  on  the  con 
trary,  the  work  is  written  in  a  clear,  un 
affected,  business-like,  yet  beautiful  man 
ner.  The  authors  had  the  good  sense  to 
think  that  the  stirring  events  of  "the  times 
that  tried  men's  souls,"  needed  no  embellish 
ment.  It  is  a  complete,  impartial,  and  well 
written  history  of  the  American  Revolu 
tion,  and,  at  the  same  time,  a  faithful  bio 
graphy  of  the  most  distinguished  actors  in 
tnat  great  struggle,  whose  memories  are 
enshrined  in  our  hearts.  The  typographical 
execution  of  the  work  is  excellent,  and  the 
bixteen  portraits  on  steel  are  remarkably 
well  done.  The  first  volume  is  embel- 
lisl 
ton  mounted  on  [us  ciiiu'g 

Eicture,  "Quelling  the  Whisky  Riots.'"  This 
>,  we  believe,  the  first  engraving  taken 
from  it.  There  are  biographies  of  eighty- 
eight  Generals,  beginning  with  "the  Father 
of  ins  country,"  and  closing  with  General 
Maxwell.  To  accomplish  this  task,  we 
aie  assured  that  "the  accessible  published 
and  unpublished  memoirs,  correspondence, 
and  other  materials  relating  to  the  period, 
have  been  carefully  examined  and  faith 
fully  reflected."  We  earnestly  commend 
this  work.  It  will  be  found  an  unerring 
record  of  the  most  interesting  portion  of 
our  history. —  The  City  Item.  We  have  read  a  number  of  the  articles. 

This  work  differs   from   Mr.  Headley's,    find  lhem  to  be  written  with  ability,  and  t6 
uviiiR  nearly  the  same  title,  in  many  im- <  Possess  a  deep  interest      I  he   author  has 

manifested  excellent  judgment  in  .avoiding 
all  ambitious  attempts  at  what  is  styled 
fine  writing ;  but  gives  a  connected  recital 
and  of  (he  important  events  in  the  lives  of  his 
Ultiiyiduall/ed  work  that  hftl  ever  been  heroes.  The  work  will  be  highly  interesl- 
pui/lished  on  the  subject— each  member  of  >  J,,.  an(i  valuable  to  all  readers— particu- 
the  great  thamatts  ptrsonef  ol  the  Revolu-  i}ir|y  so  to  youth,  who  are  a' ways  attracted 
lionarx  tragedy,  standing  out  in  bold  and  j  ,,..  bioirrapliies.  If  a  father  wishes  to  pro- 
'•sculptured"  relief,  on  Ins  own  glorious  ',  sellt  to^h;s  SOM!!  I10|,]e  instance*  of  uncor- 
deeds.—  Saturday  Courier.  $  rupted  and  incorruptible  patriotism,  let  him 

This  work  is  a  very  different  affair  from  \  place  this  work  in  their  hands.     It  should 
the  flus'iy  and  superficial  book  of  the  Rev.  ;  have,  a  place  in  every  American  library, 

the   Gc 


and  authentic  work,  embracing  biographi 
cal  notices  of  every  one  of  the  Revolution 
ary  Generals.  The  amount  of  fresh  and  ori 
ginal  matter  thus  brought  together  in  these 
moderate-sized  volumes,  is  not  less  sur 
prising  than  it  is  gratifying  to  the  historical 
reader.  This  will  become  a,  standard  book 
of  reference,  and  will  maintain  its  place  in 
libraries  long  after  the  present  generation 
shall  have  enjoyed  the  gratification  of  pe 
rusing  its  interesting  pages,  exhibiting  in  a 
lively  style  the  personal  adventures  and 
private  characters  of  the  sturdy  defenders 
of  American  Independence. — Scolds  Weekly 
Newspaper. 

The  author's  name  is  not  given,  and  from 
what  we  have  read,  we  presume  that  va 
rious  pens  have  been  employed  in  these  in 
teresting  biographies.  This  is  no  disadvan 
tage,  but,  on  the  contrary,  a  decided  benefit, 
for  it  insures  greater  accuracy  than  could  be 
looked  for  in  such  a  series  of  biographies 
written  by  one  person  in  a  few  months. 
The  volumes  are  published  in  a  very  hand- 
some  style.  The  first  sixty  pages  are  oc 
cupied  with  the  biography  of  Washington, 
which  is  written  with  force  and  elegance, 
and  illustrated  by  an  original  view  of  the 
character  of  that  great  man.  *  ••*  *  The 
number  of  the  biographies  in  these  volumes 
is  much  greater  than  that  of  Mr.  Headley's 
work.  There  are  eighty-eight  distinct  sub 
jects. — N.  Y.  Mirror. 


having  nearly 

po'tant  particulars  ;  and  n.\  an  historical  book 

is  much  superior  —  N.  Y.  Com.  Advertiser. 


'IV   HeaJley.   ent.tled   -'Washington  anil     and  is  among  the  most  valuable  books  of  th« 
i    Generals."      It    appears    without    the    season. — liu!timore  Atntrican. 


NEW   BOOKS   PUBLISHED   BY  A.  flAUT. 


FEDERAL   ADMINISTRATIONS. 

MEMOIRS 

OF  THK 

ADMINISTRATIONS  OF 
WASHINGTON  AND  JOHN  ADAMS, 

EDITED  FROM  THE  PAPERS  OF 
OLIVER  WOLCOTT, 

SECRETARY  OF  THK  TREASURY. 

BY  GEORGE  GIBBS. 

"  tfullius  addictus  jurare  in  yerka  roagistri." 
In  Two  Vols  Octavo.  1000  Pages,  Cloth  Gilt, 

Price  $5. 

"  Books  of  this  character  best  illustrate 
the  history  of  the  country.  The  men  who 
have  acted  important  parts  are  made  to 
speak  for  themselves,  and  appear  without 
any  aid  from  the  partiality  of  friends,  or  any 
injury  from  the  detraction  of  enemies." — 
Providence  Journal. 

''The  materials  of  which  these  volumes 
are  composed  are  of  great  value.  They 
consist  of  correspondence,  now  first  given 
to  the  world,  of  Washington,  the  elder 
Adams,  Ames,  John  Marshall,  Rufus  King, 
Timothy  Pickering,  Wolcott,  &c.  There 
are  thirty-seven  original  letters  from  Alex 
ander  Hamilton,  many  of  them  of  the  highest 
interest;  one  in  which  the  writer  with  keen 
sagacity  and  all  the  splendor  of  his  elo 
quence,  gives  a  character  of  Mr.  Burr  upon 
which  his  own  fate  was  destined  to  put  the 
seal  of  truth,  is  read  now  with  singular 
emotions.  Mr.  Gibbs  has  performed  his 
task  extremely  well.  His  preface  is  modest 
and  d.gnified.  The  passages  of  narrative 
by  which  the  letters  are  connected  are  ac 
curate,  judicious  and  agreeable;  they  illus 
trate,  and  do  not  overlay  the  principal  ma-  j  with  a  great  deal  of  judgment  and  discrimi- 
leriai  of  the  work." — North  American.  j  nation.  These  memoirs  will  be  found  not 

"Here  we  meet,  illustrated  in  something  ( only   peculiarly   interesting,    but    also    in- 
like  forty  important  letters,  the,  blazing  intel- j  structive,    as  throwing    considerable    light 
ligence,  the  practical  sagacity,  the  heroic 
generosity,  the  various  genius,  which  have 
made  Hamilton  the  name  of  statesmanship 
and  greatness,  rather  than  the  name  of  a 
man.'    Here  we  have  the  piercing  judgment 
of  John   Marshall,   unmsceptifile  of  error, 
whose  capacity  to  see  the  truth  was  equalled  | 


PETERS'    DIGEST. 

A  FULL  AND  ARRANGED 

DIGEST  OF  THE  DECISIONS 

In  Common  Law,  Equity,  and  Admiralty 
OF  THE  COURTS  OF  THE  UNITED  STATE*, 

From  the  Orga.nizo.tion  of  the  Government  in 

1789  to  1847  : 
IN  THE  SUPREME,   CIRCUIT,  DISTRICT,  AND 

ADMIRALTY   COURTS;     . 

Reported  in  Dallas,  Cranch,  Wheaton,  Peters, 
and  Howard's  Supreme  Court  Reports ;  in 
Gallison,  Mason,  Paine,  Peters,  Washingtc  n, 
Wallace,  Sumner,  Story,  Baldwin,  Brockcn- 
brough,  and  McLean's  Circuit  Court  Re 
ports  ;  and  in  Bees,  Ware,  Peters,  and  G  il- 
pin's  District  and  Admiralty  Reports. 

BY  RICHARD  PETERS. 

With  an  Appendix — containing  the  Rules 
and  Orders  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  Un'ted 
States  in  Proceedings  in  Equity,  established 
by  the  Supreme  Court.  Complete  in  two 
large  octavo  volumes,  law  binding,  raised 
bands,  at  a  low  price. 


MEMOIRS 

OF   THE 

QUEENS   OF    FRANCE, 

BY  MRS.  FORBES  BUSH. 

FROM  THE  SECOND  LONDON  EDITION. 

In  Two  Volumes  l'2mo.,  with  Portraits,  S?2. 

"Mrs.  Forbes  Bush  is  a  graceful  writer, 

and  in  the  work  before  vis  has  selected  the 

prominent  features  in  the  lives  of  the  Queens 


•  capacity 

only  by  his  power  of  compelling  others  to 
receive  it;  in  the  light  of  whose  logic  opi 
nions  appeared  to  assume  the  nature  of 
facts,  and  truth  acquires  the  palpableness 
of  a  material  reality;  the  bluniness.  force 
and  probity  of  Pickering;  the  sterling  ex- 


upon   the   manners   and    customs    of   past 
ages." —  WfStern  Continent. 

"We  have  looked  over  the  lives  of  some  of 
the  Queens,  presented  in  Mr.  A.  Hart's  new 
volumes,  with  great  interest.  While  none 
are  devoid  of  some  degree  of  attraction,  the 
most  of  them  have  a  charm  about  their  per 
son  or  character  exceeding  any  thing  we  rind 
in  the  most  popular  romances.  They  are  full 
of  sentiment  and  romance,  rendered  all  the 
more  touching  from  the  graceful  drapery  in 
which  they  are  adorned,  and  by  the  truth 
fulness  of  which  the  reader  is  strongly  im- 


cellences  of  Wolcott  himself,  who  had  no  pressed.  It  is  of  course  doubly  attractive, 
artificer*  and  no  concealments,  because  his  <  in  reading  the  strongly  marked  characters 
strength  was  too  great  to  require  them,  and  <  of  history,  to  feel  a  conviction  of  the  truth 
his  purposes  too  pure  to  admit  them;  and  1  with  whieh  ever  the  wildest  and  most  thrill- 
sounding  as  an  understrain  through  the  '  ing  incidents  are  invested.  The  Lives  of 
whole,  the  prophet  tones  of  Ames."—  U.  S. 


Gazette. 

"An  important  and  valuable  addition  to 
Khe  historical  lore  of  the  country."—  N.  Y. 
Evening  Gazette. 

"  We  look  upon  these  memoirs  as  an  ex 
ceedingly  valuable  contribution  to  our  na 
tional  records."—  N.  Y  Com.  Advertiser. 


these  fair  ladies  are  full  of  instruction,  a 
merit  that  mere  romance  seldom  possesses. 
The  author/,  Mis.  Forbes  Bush,  commences 
with  Queen  Basine,  in  the  reign  of  Childeric 
I.,  or  about  four  hundred  years  after  the 
commencement  of  the  Christian  era.  The 
volumes  close  with  the  late  Queen  of  the 
i  French,  Marie  Anielie  " — Saturday  Couritr. 


NEW   BOOKS   PUBLISHED    BY  A.  HART. 
MORFIT'S    APPLIED    CHEMISTRY. 


A  TREATISE   UPON   CHEMISTRY, 

IN  ITS  APPLICATION  TO  THE  MANUFACTURE  OF 

SOAPS    AND   CANDLES. 

BEING  A  THOROUGH  EXPOSITION  OF  THE  PRINCIPLES  AND  PRACTICE  OF  THE  TRAD! 

IN  ALL  THEIR  MINUTIAE,  BASED  UPON  THE  MOST  RECENT  DISCOVERIES  IN 

SCIENCE. 

BY  CAMPBELL  MORFIT, 

PRACTICAL  AND  ANALYTICAL  CHEMIST. 

With  170   Engravings  on  Wood. 

This  work  is  based  upon  the  most  RKCENT  DISCOVERIES  IN  SCIENCE  AND  IMPROVEMENTS 
in  ART,  and  presents  a  thoro'ugh  exposition  of  the  principles  and  practice  of  the  trade  in 
all  thoir  minutiae.  The  experience  and  ability  of  the  author  have  enabled  h-rtn  to  produce 
A  MORE  COMPLETE  AND  COMPREHENSIVE  BOOK  upon  the  subject  tliaii  any  extant.  The  whole 
arrangement  is  designed  with  a  view  to  the  scientific  enlightenment,  as  well  as  the  in- 
Btrucion  of  the  manufacturer,  and  its  contents  are  such  as  to  render  it  not  only  A  STAND 
ARD  GUIDB  BOOK  TO  THE  OPERATIVE,  but  also  an  authoritative  work  of  reference  for  i.he 
CHEMIST  AND  THE  STUDENT. 

An  examination  of  the  annexed  table  of  contents  will  show  the  invaluable  usefulness 
of  the  work,  the  practical  features  of  which  are  illustrated  by  upwards  of  ONE  UUNDKKD 

AND  SIXTY  ENGRAVINGS  ON  WOOD. 

The  folloiving  sy  nape  is  embraces  only  the  main  heads  of  each  Chapter  and  Paragraph. 


CHAP.   1.  Introductory  Remarks. 

"  2,  The  Dignity  of  the  Art  and  its  Re 
lations  to  Science 

u  3.  Affinity  and  Chemical  Equiva 
lents : — Explanation  of. 

"  4.  Alkalies.—  Lime,  Potassa,  Soda, 
AT;mionia. 

"        5.  Alkalimetry. 

"  6  Acids.—  Carbonic,  Sulphuric,  Hy 
drochloric,  Nitric,  Boracic. 
Acidimetry. 

M  7.  Origin  and  Composition  of  Fatty 
Matters. 

"  8.  Saponifiable  Fats.—  Oils  of  Al 
mond,  Olive,  Mustard,  Beech, 
Poppy,  Kapeseed,  Graj>eseed; 
Nui  Oil,  Linseed  Oil,  Castor 
Oil,  Palm  Oil.  (processes  for 
bleaching  it;)  Coco  Butter, 
Nutmeg  Hutter,  Galutn  Butter, 
Athamantine. 
v9.  Adulteration  of  Oils. 

"       PO.  Action  of  Acids  upon  Oils. 

«'  11.  Volatile  Oils.— The  Properties  of, 
and  iheir  applicability  to  the 
Manufacture  of  Soaps. 

«  12.  Volatile  Oils:— Their  Origin  and 
Composition ;  Table  of  their 
Specific  Gravities. 

"  13.  Essential  Oils:— The  Adultera 
tions  of.  and  jhe  modes  of  de 
tecting  ih'-m. 

"  14.  Wax:— Its  Properties  and  Corn 
position. 

a  15.  Resins  :—  Their  Properties  am 
Composition ;  Colophony  and 
Gallipot 

«*  16.  Annual  Fits  and  Oil<:-Lard 
Mutton  Suet,  Heef-tal low, Beef- 
marrow.  Hone-fat,  Soap-grease 
Oil-lees.  Kitchen-staff,  Human 
fat,  Adipoclrc,  lJuttor,  Fish-oil 
10 


Spermaceti,  Delphinine,  Neats 
feet  Oil. 

CHAP.  17.  The  Constituents  of  Fats,  their 
Properties  and  Composition: 
Steanne,  Stearic  Acid  and 
Salts;  Margarine,  Margaric 
Acid  and  Salts;  Olein,  Oleic 
Acid  and  Salts;  Celine.  Cetylic 
Acid;  Phocenine,  Phocenic 
Acid  and  Salts  ;  Butyrine,  Bu- 

Sric  Acid  and  Salts;  Caproic, 
pric  Acid;    Hircine,  iiircic 
Acid;  Cholesternie. 

"      18.  Bafic    Constituents    of   Fats:  — 

Glycerin    Kihal. 
19.   Tlitory  of  Saponijication. 

"  20.  Utensils:—  Steam  Series,  Buga- 
d.ers  or  Ley  Vats,  Soap  Frames, 
Caldrons,  &c. 

"  21.  The  Systemized  arrangement  for 
a  Soap  Factory. 

"  22.  Remarks, —  Preliminary  to  the 
Process  for  Making  Soap. 

"  23.  Hard  Soaps: — "Cutting  Pro 
cess;"  Comparative  Value  of 
Oils  and  Fats  as  Soap  ingredi 
ent,  with  Tables;  White,  Mot 
tled,  Marseilles,  Yellow,  Yan 
kee  Soaps;  English  Yellow  and 
White  Soap,  Coco  Soap.  Palm 
Soap,  Butter  Soap,  English 
Windsor  Soap,  French  Wind 
sor  Soap.  Analyses  of  Soaps. 

"  24.  Process  for  Making  Soap  : — I' re 
paration  of  the  Leys.  Ernpa- 
tage,  Relargage,  Coction,  Mot 
tling,  Cooling. 

"  25.  Extemporaneous  Soaps:  —  Lard, 
Medicinal,  '•  Hawes,"  "Ma 
quer,"  and  "  Darcet's"  Soaps 

"  26.  Silicnted  Soaps  :—  Flint,  Sand, 
"  Dunn's,'1  •'  DaviaV'  Soaps. 


NEW  BOOKS  PUBLISHED   BY  A.  HART. 


CHJLP.27.  Patent  Soaps. — Dextrine,  Salina- 
tt'dxS,oaps,  Soap  from  Hardened 
Fat. 

4*      28.  Anderson**  Improvements. 

44  29.  Soft  Soap*:— Process  for  Making, 
Crown  Soaps,  "Savon  Vert." 

"  30.  The  Conversion  of  Soft  Soaps  into 
Hard  Soaps. 

M  31.  Frauds  in  Soap  Making  and 
Meant  for  their  Detection. 

4<  32.  Earthy  Soaps,  Marine  Soap.  Me 
tallic  Soaps.  Ammoniacal  Soap. 

*  33.  Soap  from  Volatile  Oils:— Slur- 
ky's  Soap,  Action  of  Alkalies 
upon  Essential  Oils. 

44  34.  "Savons  Acides,"  or  Oleo-acidu- 
•lated  Soap. 

41  35.  Toilet  Soaps:  —  Purification  of 
Soaps,  Admixed  Soap,  Cinna 
mon,  Rose,  Orange  -  flower, 
Bouquet,  Benzoin.  Cologne, 
Vanilla,  Musk,  Naples,  Kasan 
Soaps.  Flotant  Soaps.  Trans 
parent  Soaps  Soft  Soaps,  Sha 
ving  Cream  ;  Remarks. 

M  36.  Areometers  and  Thermometers: — 
their  use  and  value. 

"      37.    Weights  and  Measures. 

«      38.   Candles. 

"      39.  Illumination 

"      40    Philosophy  of  Flame. 

"      41.  Raw    Material   for    Candles:  — 


Modes     of    Rendering    Fats, 
"  Wilson's  Steam  Tanks. 
CHAP.  42.  Wicks:  —  Their  use   and  action. 
Culling  Machines 

"      43.  Of  the  Manufacture  of  Candles. 

"  44.  Dipped  Candles:  —  Improved  Ma 
chinery  for  facilitating  their 
Manufacture. 

"  45.  Material  of  Candles  :—  Process 
for  Improving  its  Quality. 

"  46.  Moulded  Candles:  —  Improved 
Machinery  for  facilitating  their 
Manufacture.— "Vaxeme,"  or 
Summer  Candles. 

"  47.  StearicAcid  Candles:-  Adamant 
ine  and  Star  Candles. 

"  43.  Stearin  Candles: — Braconnot's 
and  Morfit's  Process. 

"      49.  Sperm  Candles. 

"  50.  Palmine,  Palm  Wax,  Coco  Ca  ti 
dies. 

"  51.  Wax  Candles  .-—Mode of  Bleach 
ing  the  Wax,  with  drawings  of 
the  apparatus  requisite  there 
for;  Bougies,  Cierges,  Flam 
beaux. 

"  52.  Patent  Candles:  — "  Azotized," 
Movable  Wick  and  Goddard's 
Candles;  Candles  on  Conlinu 
ous  Wick;  Water  and  Hour 
Bougies,  Perfumed  Candles. 
u  53.  Concluding  Remaiks.  Vocabu- 
U 


iary. 

Terms.— The  book  is  handsomely  printed,  with  large  type,  and  on  good  thick  paper, 
in  an  octavo  volume  of  upwards  of  five  hundred  pages,  the  price  of  which  is  $5  per 
copy,  neatly  bound  in  cloth  g  It,  or  it  will  be  forwaided  by  mail  free  of  postage  in  flexible 
covers,  on  receiving  a  remittance  of  &5.  (A  limited  number  only  printed.) 


Two  VOLUMES,  TWELVE  HUNDRED    PAGES,  EMBELLISHED  WITH    NUMEROUS 
ENGRAVINGS.     NEW  EDITION.     PRICE  §4,  CLOTH,  GILS?. 

WATSON'S  ANNAIS  OF  PHILABELPHIA  AND 
PENNSYLVANIA  IN  THE  OLSEN  TIME. 

BEING  A  COLLECTION  OF  MEMOIRS,  ANECDOTES,  AND  INCIDENTS  OF  THE  CITY 
AND  ITS  INHABITANTS. 

AND   OF   THE 

Earliest  Settlements  of  the  Inland  part  of  Pennsylvania,  from  the  days  of  tha 
•  flounders. 

'INTENDED  TO  PRESERVE  THE  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  OLDEN  TIME,  AND  TO 

Exhibit  Society  in  its  Changes  of  Banners  and  Customs,  and'the  City  and  Country 

in  their  Local  Changes  and  Improvements. 

BY    JOHN    F.    WATSON, 

Member  of  the  Historical  Society  of  Pennsylvania,  and  Honorary  Member  of  the  Historical 
(Societies  of  New  York  and  Massachusetts. 


REVIEW  NOTICES.— "This  is  a  great  curi 
osity.  Such  a  book  has  never  before  been 
produced  in  the  United  States.  Th^  Annalist 
will  enjoy  a.  peerless  fame — we  trust  his  work 
•will  be  universally  bought  and  read."  '-No 
American  who  can  read  should  be  Without  a 
copy  of  this  invaluable  contribution  to  our 
early  American  history."  "It  seems  to  con 
vey  us  back  to  other  times — we  see  things  as 
they  wore — minutely  and  particularly,  and 
not  as  presented  iu  stately  and  buskiucd 


history,  in  one  general  view — vague,  glim- 
meriug,  indistinct."  "  This  is  iu  truth  a  work 
without  example  for  its  imitation,  and  with 
equal  truth  it  is  in  execution  a  work  sin 
ffeneris."  "It  is  a  museum  that  will  never 
cease  to  attract. ^lt  deserves  the  gratitude 
\  of  the  country  and  the  patronage  of  the 
reading  community.  It  will  furnish  the 
historian,  the  biographer,  and  the  patriotic 
orator,  with  matter  to  adorn  and  beautify 
their  productions." 


A.  HART'S  STANDARD   MEDICAL  WORnS. 
ILLUSTRATED   MEDICAL   LIBRARY. 

CAREY  &  HART  have  recently  published  the  following  valua  >le  Medical  and  Sur 
gical  works,  superbly  illustrated— to  which  they  beg  leave  to  c-iil  the  attention  of  the 
profession.  This  splendid  series  now  forms  BIX  ROYAL  QUART^  VOLUMES,  containing 
FOUR  HUNDRKD  AND  EIGHTY  QUARTO  PLATES,  be  lutitully  executed ;  and 
the  price  at  which  they  are  offered  is  infinitely  less  than  any  shnilar  works  have  here 
tofore  been  published. 

QUAIN'S   ANATOMICAL   PLATES, 

FANCOAST'S  OPERATIVE  SURG2RY, 

MOBEAU'S  GREAT  WORK  ON  MIDWIFERY, 

GODDARD    ON    THE    TEETH, 
RICORD  ON  EXTREME  CASES  OF  VENEREAL  DISEASES 

AND  RAYER  ON  DISEASES  OF  THE  SKIN. 


A  SERIES  OF 

ANATOMICAL  PLATES, 

With  References  and  Physiological  Com 
ments,  illustrating  the  structure  of  tlie 
different  parts  of  the  Human  Body. 

EDITED   BY 

JONES  QUAIN,  M.D.,AND 
W.  J.   ERASMUS  WILSON. 

With  Notes  and  Additions  by 

JOSEPH  PA^COAST,  M.  D., 

Professor  of  Anatomy  in  the  Jefferson  Me 
dical  College  of  Philadelphia. 

THIRD  AMERICAN  EDITION. 

The  Plates  are  accompanied  by  letter 
press,  containing  detailed  references  to  the 
various  objects  delineated.  But  with  a 
view  to  render  them  intelligible  to  agreater 
number  of  persons,  a  running  commentary 
on  eacli  plate  is  given,  stating  in  general 
terms,  and  divested  as  far  as  can  be,  of  all 
technicality,  the  uses  and  purposes  which 
the  different,  objects  serve  in  the  animal 
economy. 

THE  WORK  CONSISTS    OF  THE  FOLLOWING 
|  .  DIVISIONS  I 

THE  MUSCLES  OF  THE  HUMAN 
BODY,  Fifty-one  Plate*.  - 

TIIK  VESSELS  OF  THE  HUMAN 
BODY,  Fifty  Plates.  ^_ 

T.1F.  NERVES  OF^THE  HUMAN 
BODY.  Thirtii-fiifht  Plates. 

Till;  VISiT.R.v  OF  THE  HUMAN 
BODY,  including  the  Organs  of  Digestion, 
Respiration,  Secretion  and  Excretion, 
Thirty -twc  Plata. 

18 


THE    BONES    AND     LIGAMENTS, 

Thirty  Plates. 

Complete  in  One  Royal  Quarto  Volume  of 
nearly  500  pages,  and  200  plates,  compris- 
ng  nearly  700  separate  illustrations.  Be- 
ng  the  only  complete  system  of  Anatomi- 
al  Plates,  on  a  large  scale,  ever  published 
n  America. 

Price  only  $15,  cloth  gilt,  or 
$30  colored  after  nature. 


OPERATIVE  SURGERY; 

OR, 

A  DESCRIPTION  AND  DEMONSTRA 
TION  OF  THE  VARIOUS  PRO 
CESSES  OF  THE  ART; 

INCLUDING    ALL    THE    NEW  OPERATIONS, 
AND  EXHIBITING  THE  STATE  OF  SUR 
GICAL  SCIENCE    IN  ITS  PRESENT 

ADVANCED  CONDITION. 

BY  JOSEPH  PANCOAST,  M.  D., 

Professor  of  General,  Descriptive  and  Sur 
gical  Ana:omy  in  Jt'iftrson  Medical 

College,  Philadelphia. 

Complfte  in  One  Royal  \to.  Volume  of  380 
pages  of  letterpress  description  and  eighty 
large.  4to.  plates,  comprising  48fi  Illustra 
tions,   and  being   the    only   complete 
work  on  the  subject  in  the  English 
Language.     Price,  full  bound         > 
in  cloth,  only  SIO. 

Second  Edition,  Improved. 

"This  excellent  work  is  constructed  o* 
the  model  of  the  French  Surgical  Works 
by  VHpeau  and  Malgaigne  ;  and,  so  far  as 
th«  English  language  is  concerned,  we  are 


A.  HART'S   STANDARD   MEDICAL   WORKS. 


proud  as  an  American  to  say  that,  OF  ITS 

KIND    IT     HAS     XO     SUPERIOR."  —  A'tflW      York 

Journal  of  Medicine. 

"  For  this  beautiful  volume,  the  srude.nt 
and  practitioner  Of  Surgery  will  feel  grate- 
ful  to  the  ability  and  industry  of  Prof  Pan- 
coast.  The  drawing  and  execution  of  the 
plau-s  are  splendid  examples  of  American 
art,  and  do  credit  to  Messrs.  Cicliowski 
and  Duvttl,  while  the  description  is  no  less 
creditable  to  the  author.  We  have  ex 
amined  the  book  with  care,  and  feel  great 
pleasure  in  declaring  that,  in  our  opinion, 
it  is  a  most  valuable  addition  to  the  surgical 
literature  of  the  United  States.  It  was  a 
happy  idea  to  illustrate  this  department  of 
surgery,  as  it  renders  perfectly  clear  what 
the  very  best  verbal  description  often 
leaves  obscure,  and  is,  to  some  extent,  a 
substitute  for  witnessing  operations.  To 
those  practitioners  especially,  who  are 
called  upon  occasionally,  only,  to  perform 
operations,  we  are  not  acquainted  with  any 
volume  better  calculated  for  reference  prior 
to  using  the  knife.  There  are  similar 
works  published  in  Europe,  but  they  are 
much  more  expensive,  without  being  supe 
rior  in  point  of  usefulness  to  the  very  cheap 
volume  before  us. 

"  All  the  modern  operations  for  the  cure 
of  squinting,  club-foot,  and  the  replacing 
lost  parts  and  repairing  deformities  from 
partial  destruction  of  the  nose,  &c.,  are  very 
clearly  explained  and  prettily  illustrated. 
It  is  questionable  whether  anything  on  this 
subject  can  be  better  adapted  to  its  purpose, 
than  Pancoast'?  Operative  Surgery."—  Sa 
turday  Courier. 

III. 


ON  THE  TEETH. 


THE 

ANATOMY,    PHYSIOLOGY, 
AND  DISEASES 

OF   THE 

TEETH  AWD  GUMS, 

WITH  THB-MOST  APPROVED  METHODS    OF 

TREATMENT,  INCLUDING    OPERATIONS, 

AND  A  GENERAL  ACCOUNT  OF  THE 

METHOD    OF    MAKING    AND 

SETTING 

Artificial  Teeth. 

BY  PAUL  BECK  GODDARD,  M.  D., 

Professor  of  Anatomy   and    Histology   in 
the  Franklin  College  of  Philadelphia. 

In  One  4to.  Volume,  illustrated  by  30 

beautifully  executed    Plates,   each 

containing  Numerous  Figures, 

handsomely  bound  in  cloth. 

Price  Six  Dollars. 

Uniform  with  rl  Quoin's  Anatomy,"  "  Pan- 
codst's  Surgery,  "  and  ••  Moreau's 

Midwifery.'1' 

"  We  do  not  possess  a  modern  work  on 
Denial  Surgery,  written  by  a  British  Au- 


\  thor,  which  equals  that  of  Dr.  Goddard.— 

<  One  reason  for  this  may  arise  from  the  cir« 

<  cumstance,   that   the   learned    author   is  a 
/practical    anatomist,  whose  knowledge  is 

>  on   a  level    with  the  modern  discoveries, 
,  and    who    has    himself  authenticated    the 

>  latest  researches  into  the  minute  anatomy 
\  of  the  dental  structure.     It  is  quite  apparent 

that  such  knowledge  must  prove  of  im 
mense  value  in  enabling  any  one  to  arrive 
at  just  conclusions  relative  to  the  diseases 
of  the  teeth  ;  and  it  is  chiefly  to  be  attributed 
to  the  want  °f  suc''  knowledge  that  most 
writers  on  Dental  Surgery  have  erred  so 
much  relative  to  jjie  causes  and  nature  ot 
these  diseases.  The  work  may  confidently 
be  recommended,  as  containing  the  best  and 
most  approved  methods  of  performing  all 
the  operations  connected  with  .Dental  Sur 
gery. 

"  We  cannot  close  out  re.narks  without 
adverting  to  the  thirty  very  beautiful  litho 
graphs  which  illustrate  the  text.  They 
render  it  quite  impossible  to  misunderstand 
the  author,  and  afford  a  very  favorable  ex 
ample  of  the  advanced  state  of  the  Art  on 
the  American-Continent."—  Edinburgh  Me 
dical  and  SurgicalJournal,  1S44. 

IV. 
MOREAU'S 

Great  Work  on  Midwifery 

A  PRACTICAL  TREATISE 
EXHIBITING   THE    PRESENT  AD 
VANCED  STATE  OF  THE 
SCIENCE. 

BY  F.  G.  MOREAU. 

Translated  from  the  French 
BY  T.  FOREST  BETTON,  M.  D., 

AND  EDITED 

BY  PAUL   BECK   GODDARD,  M.  D. 

The  whole  illustrated  by 
Eighty  Splendid    quarto  Plates^ 

WHICH  ARE  EITHER 

The  Size  of  Life, 

OR  EXACTLY  HALF  THE  SIZE. 

Upon  which  the  first  artists  have  been 

employed,  and  which  are  fully  equal, 

if    not    superior,    to    the    original, 

and  the  publishers  can  safely 

pronounce  it 

THE  MOST  SPLENDID  WORK  ON    MID 
WIFERY  EVER  PUBLISHED. 
Now  complete  in  one  large  4to.  volume,  of  tftt 
size   of   "  Qiiain's   Anatomy.'1'1    "  Pan- 
coast's   Surgery,"   and    u  Goddard 

on  the  Teeth." 
Price  TEN  DOLLARS,  full 

l»oitii(l  in  cloth. 
"The  work   of  Professor  Moreau   is   a 
j_  treasure  of  Obstetrical  Science  and  Prao- 
19 


A.  HART'S   STANDARD   MEDICAL   WORKS. 


lice,  and  the  American  edition  of  it  an  ele 
gant  specimen  of  ihe  arts." — Medical  Era- 
miner.  August.  It44. 

"  A  splendid  quarto,  containing  eighty 
lithographic  plates,  true  to  the  life,  has  been 
some  weeks  before  us-  but  we  are  groping 
our  way  through  a  mass  of  new  works, 
with  a  full  expectation  of  soon  doing  jus 
tice  to  the  meritsof  this  elaborate  and  truly 
Deautiful  work." — Boston  Med.  and  Surg. 
Journal. 

"  Moreau's  treatise  is  another  valuable 
work  upon  the  science  of  Midwifery,  with- 
eighty  of  the  most  splendid  lithographic 
plates  we  have  ever  seen.  THESE  IL 
LUSTRATIONS  ARE  ENGRAVED 
WITH  SO  MUCH  BEAUTY  AND  AC 
CURACY,  AND  UPON  SO  LARGE  A 
SCALE,  that  they  cannot  fail  to  present  to 
the  eye  the  precise  relation  of  the  fetus  and 
of  the  pans  engaged  in  labor,  under  every 
condition  and  circumstance,  from  the  com 
mencement  of  the  state  of  natural  parturi 
tion,  to  the  most  difficult  and  complicated 
labor.  The  profession  are  greatly  indebted 
to  French  industry  in  pathological  and  spe 
cial  anatomy  for  the  continued  advance  in 
the  science  of  Obstetrics;  and  the  work 
before  us  may  be  regarded  as  the  comple 
tion  of  all  'that  has  accumulated  in  this 
department  of  medical  science,  greatly  en 
hanced  in  value  by  many  valuable  original 
suggestions,  to  the  proper  arrangement  of 
which  the  author  has  devoted  a  great 
amount  of  labor.  The  translation  is  faith 
fully  and  elegantly  done,  and  the  urork  will 
be  a  valuable  addition  to  the  medical  lite 
rature  of  our  country." — New  York  Journal 
oj  Medicine. 


A  THEORETICAL 

AND 

PRACTICAL  TREATISE 

ON    THE 

DISEASES  OF  THE  SKIN, 

I!  Y   P.    RAYER,  M.  D. 

Physician  to  La  Charit6  Hospital. 
From  the  Second  Edition,  entirely   remo 
deled.     With  Notes  and  other  Additions, 

BY  JOHN  BELL,  M.  D. 

Fellow  of  the  College  of  Physicians  of  Phi 
ladelphia,   Member  of  the    American 
Philosophical  Society,  and  of  the 
Gengofili  Society  of  Florence, 
and    Editor   of    Bell    and 
Stokes'  Practice  of  Me 
dicine,  &c.  &c. 
In  One  Royal  4<o.  Volume. 
With  Forty  Beautifully  Colored  Plates, 
COMPRISING    FOUR    HUNDRED   SEPARATE 
ILLUSTRATIONS, 

Carefully  Colored  from  Nature,  and  450 
pages  of  Letterpress. 

Handsomely  bound  in  Cloth  Gilt. 
Trice  if  1 5  Oi* 
20 


Opinions  of  the  Press. 

"We  take  (pave  of  our  author  with  th* 
declaration  that  his  work  is  a  monument  Oi 
the  most  extraordinary  industry.  We  have 
no  hesitation  in  adding  that  it  is  the  best 
book  we  possess  in  any  language  on  the 
subject^  and  that  should  any  of  our  read* 
ers  desire  to  sail  over  the  unbounded  sea 
of  letterpress  formed  of  the  history  and 
pathology  of  the  diseases  of  the  cutaneous 
surface,  M.  Rayer  should  be  his  pilot." 

OF  THK  PLATES. — "  Considered  in  this  re 
spect,  but  more  especially  in  reference  to 
the  number  of  illustrations  of  the  general 
species  and  varieties  of  such  order  which 
it  contains,  this  Atlas  far  surpasses  any 
that  has  yet  appeared.  ON  THE  WHOLE 
R  A  YEK-S  ATLAS  MAY  CONSCIEN 
TIOUSLY  BE  SAID  TO  CONTAH 
THE  MOST  COMPLETE  SERIES  Of 
ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CUTANEOUS 
DISEASES  HITHERTO  PUBLISH 
ED.  AND  IS.  BESIDES,  not  only  cheap 
er  man  any  other,  but  we.ll  worth  the  sum 
for  which  it  is  offered  to  the  profession  "— 
Briti&li  and  Fortign  Medical  Review. 


RICORD 

ON   EXTREME   CASES    OF 

VENEREAL   DISEASES 

Canid  at  the  Venereal  Hospital  at  Paris. 

Under  the  direction  of  DR.  Pn.  RICORD,  with 
276  elegantly  coloured  engravings,  in  one 
volume  quarto,  uniform  with  -'Quain's  Ana 
tomical  I'lates,"  "  Pancoast's  Operative  Sur 
gery,"  &.c.  Price  !?15.  cloth,  gilt. 

""This  truly  great  work  of  M.  Ricord,  who 
is  an  American  ami  a  native,  we  believe,  of 
Baltimore,  though  now  the  eminent  hospital 
surgeon  of  Paris,  has  long  been  a  desideratum 
in  the  English  Eangnagu.  The  immense  ex 
pense  of  its  publication,  and  especially  the 
cost  of  the  richly  coloured  engravings,  which 
are  an  iudisp  -usable  accompaniment  of  the 
text,  has  hitherto  deterred  publishers  at  home 
and  abroad  from  its  issue.  The  profession 
are  largely  indebted  to  Dr.  Betton,  the  trans 
lator,  and  Dr.  Goddard.  who  has  prepared  tha 
work  for  the  press,  as  also  the  enterprising 
publisher,  who  has  brought  out  ^his  magni 
ficent  book,  in  royal  quarto,  with  its  multi 
plied  illustrations,  in  a  style  of  excellence  as 
respects  typography,  engraving,  and  colour 
ing,  which  will  do  honour  to  American  art. 
<>t  the  value  of  this  work  it  is  unnecessary  to 
s:t\  mure  than  that  it  is  and  must  continue 
to  be  a  standard  authority  on  a  most  import 
ant  fiubjct.  involving  the  interests  of  both 
science  ami  humanity.  The  publisher  de 
serves  th«  patronage  of  the  whole  profession 
for  placing  within  the  reach  of  all  this  noble 
contribution  td  our  libraries." — Ar.  I'.  Mtdi 
col  Gazette. 


A.  HART'S  PRACTICAL  AND  SCIENTIFIC  WORKS. 
THE 

AMERICAN  COTTON   SPINNER, 


MANAGERS'    AND    CARDERS7    GUIDE: 

A  PRACTICAL  TREATISE  ON  COTTON  SPINNING. 

Compiled  from  the  Papers   of  the  late  Robert  H.  Baird. 
In  One  Volume,  Cloth  Gilt,  Price  $1. 

"This  is  a  practical  age,  and  it  demands/  "  'The  American  Cotton  Spinner  and  Maua- 
practical  books.  Of  this  class  is  the  manual  f  gers'  and  Carders'  Guide,'  a  practical  treatise 
before  us,  addressing  itself  to  a  rapidly  grow- >  on  cotton-spin  mug,  giving  the  dimensions 
ing  interest  among  us,  and  one,  upon  the  J>  and  speed  of  machinery,  draught  and  twist 
prosperity  of  which  depends,  in  a  great  mea-  4  calculations,  Ac.,  with  notices  of  recent  im- 
sure,  the  destiny  of  the  South.  We  have  too  >  provements,  together  with  rules  and  ex- 
long  committed  the  fatal  error  of  allowing  *f  amples  for  making  changes  in  the  size  of 


Northern  manufactories  to  convert  our  staple 
into  the  fabrics  we  require  for  use,  losing  by 
the  process  all  the  expenses  of  a  double  trans 
portation,  the  profits  of  manufacturing,  and 
sundry  incidental  costs  of  interest  and  ex 


roving  and  yarn.  This  work  is  compiled 
from  papers  of  the  late  Robert  H.  Baird,  well 
known  as  an  expert  cotton-spinner,  and  will 
prove  of  great  service  to  cotton-growers,  mill- 
owners.  and  cotton-spinners.  This  book  will 


change.     With  the  increasing  attention  to  $  undoubtedly  meet  with  an  extensive  sale  in 


manufactures  in  the  South,  arises  the  need 
of  information  upon  all  their  appliances  and 
workings,  and  much  that  is  valuable  of  this 
nature  is  found  in  the  book  before  us.  .Mr. 
Baird  was  an  expert  and  successful  cotton- 


spinner.  His  experience  and  observations 
are  here  afforded  to  his  fellow-operatives, 
combined  with  the  modern  improvements  in 
mechanics  and  methods.  No  intelligent  man  The  construction 


the  South,  where  attention  is  beginning  to 
be  turned  in  earnest  to  manufacturing  as 
well  as  growing  cotton."  —  Drawing-room 
Jotirnat. 

"This  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  and 
valuable  of  the  many  excellent  little  treatises 
on  mechanical  and  manufacturing  pursuits 
which  have  been  published  by  Mr.  Hart. 


working  of  a  cotton- 


at  the  present  day  builds  without 'counting  5  factory  are  thoroughly  explained.  Build- 
the  cost,'  or  enters  upon  a  field  of  labour  ]  ings,  main  gearing,  water-wheels,  pit-king 
•without  a  comprehensive  knowledge  of  its  j  and  spreading  machines,  cards  and  carding, 
capabilities  and  requirements.  To  those  J  drawing-frames,  speeders,  throstles  and  mule 
proposing  to  erect  small  factories,  or  now  ( spinning,  are  elaborately  discussed,  and  to 
conducting  them,  the  treatise  before  us  could  I  those  engaged  in  the  production  of  cotton 
not  fail  to  be  of  service,  if  well  studied,  and  ?  goods,  the  volume  must  be  exceedingly  use- 


to  sueh  we  commend  it."  —  Southern  Literary 
Gazette,. 

"  Had  we  space  we  might  go  on  to  state  a 
number  of  other  equally  interesting  and  im 
portant  facts.  The  work  from  which  much 
of  the  foregoing  is  taken,  is  published  by  Mr. 
A.  Hart,  and  was  compiled  chiefly  from  the 
papers  of  the  late  Robert  II.  Baird,  well 
known  as  an  expert  cotton-spinner.  It  is 
gratifying  to  see  that  so  respectable  a  house 
as  that  of  Mr.  Hart  has  undertaken  the  pub 
lication  ol*books  of  this  kind,  for  we  believe 
that  our  operatives  should  possess  a  theoreti 
cal  as  well  as  practical  knowledge  of  their 


ful.  To  political  economists  and  others,  who 
feel  an  interest  in  the  great  progress  of  our 
country,  the  historical  and  statistical  portions 
of  the  book  will  also  be  of  value. 

•' '  In  1770,  there  were  exported  to  Liver 
pool  from  New  York  three  bags  of  cotton 
wool;  from  Virginia  and  .Maryland,  four 
bags;  and  from  North  Carolina,  three  bar 
rels.  Last  year  England  paid  !$;n,9«-i.01*;  to 
the  United  States  for  raw  cotton,  which  sum 
is  exclusive  of  that  paid  to  other  cotton-grow 
ing  nations.  In  1790  the  first  cotion-uiill 
was  erected  in  Pawtucket,  Rhode  Island.  In 
ISoO  the  number  of  spindles  in  operation 
~ 


several  trades.     This  work  gives  the  dimen-  <,  was  computed  at  2.:~>00  000.'     These  tacts  are 


sions  ami  speed  of  machinery,  draught  and 
twist  calculations,  with  notices  of  the  most 
recent  improvements.  It  must  prove  an  in 
valuable  hand-book  to  the  manufacturer."  — 
Gennantown  Telegraph. 


among  the  most  signal  evidences  of  the  un 
exampled    progress    and    prosperity    of    the 
country,  and  cannot  be  considered  without 
,  emotions  of  pride  and  gratification." — N.  Y. 
?  Commercial  Advertiser. 

As  the  treatise  now  stands,  it  is  a  most  /  "  It  is  compiled  from  the  papers  of  the  late 
complete  and  practical  guide  in  the  spinning  |  Robert  H.  Baird,  well  known  as  an  expert 
of  cotton.  It  gives  the  dimensions  and  speed  >  cotton-spinner,  and  forms  a  practical  treatise 
of  machinery,  draught  and  twist  calcula-  5  relative  to  spinning  in  all  it's  departments 
lions;  together  with  rules  and  examples  for  <  and  relations,  the  dimensions  and  speed  of 


making  changed  in  the  size  and  number 
roving  yarn.  The  work  will  be  found  of 
value,  equally  by  operatives  and  mill  owners. 
It  is  Issued  in  a  very  neat  style." — Arthurs 
Home  Gazette. 


hinery,  draught  and  twist  calculations, 
&c.  &c.,  which  cannot  but  commend  itself  to 
the  favourable  attention  of  all  connected 
with  this  important  manufacturing  inte 


rest." — North  American. 


21 


A.  HART'S  PRACTICAL  AND  SCIENTIFIC  WORKS. 


MANUFACTHHE  OF  STEEL, 

Containing  the  Practice  and  Principles  of 
Working  and  ^j.l.ing  Steel. 

BY  FREDERICK   OVERMAN, 

MIXING   ENGINEER. 

Author  of  "  Manufacture  of  Iron,"  «fcc. 

COMPLETE  IN  ONE  VOLUME. 
With  Engravings,  cloth  gilt.    Price  75  cents. 

"  The  author  of  this  book  is  a  practical 
mining  engineer,  and  what  he  has  to  say  on 
the  subject  of  which  he  treats,  is  therefore 
entitled  to  consideration." — Com..  Advertiser . 

"  A  valuable  and  almost  indispensable 
hand-book  for  all  workers  in  steel  and  iron, 
eueh  as  blacksmiths,  cutlers,  die  sinkers,  and 
manufacturers  of  various  kinds  of  hardware. 
The  man  of  science,  as  well  as  the  artisan, 
will  find  much  valuable  information  in  Mr. 
Overman's  Book." — Arthur's  J-f'une  Gazette. 

"Carefully  prepared,  and  therefore  well 
adapted  for  the  purpose.  It  is  illustrated  by 
figures  explanatory  of  apparatus  and  ma 
chinery." — North  American. 

"A.  [lart,  Philadelphia,  has  published 
'The  Manufacture  of  Steel,'  by  Frederick 
Overman.  This  work  is  not  only  of  interest 
to  blacksmiths  and  workers  in  steel  and 
iron,  but  to  men  of  science  and  art.  It  is  a 
most  thorough  book,  commencing  with  forg 
ing,  and  treating  the  subject  throughout  in 
an  able  manner." — Boston  Evening  Gazette. 


TH1 

MOULDER'S  AND  FOUNDER'S 
POCKET  GUIDE. 

By  Frederick  Overman, 

MINING   ENGINEER. 

vrrrn  FORTY-TWO  WOOD  ENGRAVINGS. 
12mo,  252  pages,  cloth  gilt.      Price  88  cents. 

"The  moulding  of  iron  for  useful  purposes 
is  one  of  the  most  extensive  pursuits  of  so 
ciety.  Nevertheless,  there  are  comparatively 
few  works  which  present  a  clear,  intelligible, 
and  simple  statement  of  the  branches  of  this 
art,  BO  as  to  be  readily  understood  by  all. 
The  present  work  seems  to  supply  this  de 
ficiency." — Scientific  American. 

"This  volume  is  prepared  on  the  same 
plan  as  th:it  on  Cotton  Spinning,  and  has  a 
number  of  wood-engravings.  It  must  prove 
invaluable  to  the  iron  muster.  It  is  certainly 
a  book  that  has  tony:  been  needed,  and  we 
know  th;it  it  will  be  extensively  circulated." 
• — fit  rmniituwn  Tdi'firaph. 

'•  The  '  Moulder's  and  Founder's  Pocket 
Guide."  published  by  A.  Hart,  is  a  treatise  on 
moulding  and  founding  in  green  sand,  dry 
Fit.i'i,  1  am.  and  cement,  the  moulding  of  ma 
chine-frames,  in  1!  gear,  hollow-ware,  orna 
ments,  irinkets.  bells,  and  statues,  with  re 
ceipts  f.r  alloys.  v;irni.-hes,  colours,  Ac ,  by 
Fr-derick  Ovei  ma ;).  mi.iing  ciisrineov.  The 
work  is  illustrated  wkti  forty- two  wood-cuts, 
and  it  gives  plain  and  practical  d  scriptions 
of  these  most  tuut'ul  arts." — 1'^biic  L-i/uer 
22 


LONDON  YEAR-BOOK  OF  FACTS 

AND 

SCIENCE,  FOR  1851. 

BY  JOHN  TIMES. 

Complete  in  one  volume.  326  pages,  cloth  gilt. 
PRICE   $1. 

The  Year-Book  of  Facts  in  Science  and 
Art,  exhibiting  the  mo?t  important  dis 
coveries  and  improvements  of  the  past  year, 
in  mechanics  and  the  Useful  arts,  natural 
philosophy,  electricity,  chemistry,  zoology, 
and  botany,  geology  and  geography,  meteor 
ology  and  astronomy.  By  John  Timbs, 
editor  of  the  'Arcana  of  Science  and  Art,'  in 
one  neat  volume;  price  SI.  % 

';  It  contains  a  mine  of  information  in  mat 
ters  of  Science  and  Art." — Katurday  Giizcttc. 
'•There  is  a  great  deal  of  well-digested  in 
formation    in    this   volume,   exhibiting    the 
}  most  important  discoveries  in  the  Sciences 
and  Arts,  during  the  past  year.    In  looking 
|  over  it,  one  is  surprised  at  the  progress  mak- 
5  ing  in  these  branch  •?,  and  in  order  to  keep 
\  up  with  the  age,  such  a  book  as  this  is  abso 
<  lutely  necessary." — Evening  Bulletin. 

"Such  a  volume  commends  itself  suffi 
ciently  to  public  favour  I  y  its  title.  The 
importance  of  possessing  it  is  apparent  at  a 
glance,  since  the  knowledge  of  a  single  one 
of  these  facts,  or  new  discoveries  in  science 
and  the  useful  arts,  may  very  possibly  be 
worth  in  cash  to  the  buyer  ten  times  the 
price  of  the  hook." — Sc'itt't  II "'"'///. 

"The  'Year- Book  of  Facts'  is  another  of 
Mr.  Hart's  excellent  publications.  It  is  a 
reprint  from  the  London  edition,  and  ex 
hibits  the  most  important  discoveries  and 
improvements  of  the  year  1851,  in  artn, 
sciences,  and  mechanics.  It  is  jusf  tbe 
volume  to  have  handy  to  take  up  when  a 
few  spare  moments  present  themselves, 
which  might  otherwise  be  unimproved."— 
B<idnn  Evening  Gaz.tte. 

"  The  '  Year-Book  of  Facts'  is  a  work  of 
established  character,  and  American  readers 
will  feel  indebted  to  .Mr.  Hurt  for  reproduc 
ing  it  in  a  convenient  and  hand-ome  form, 
rendering  it  accessible  to  all  purcha.-ers  on 
this  side  of  the  water." — N.  American. 


STUART'S 

Dictionary  of  Architecturet 

A  Directory  of  Architecture.  Jlixturicii?.  D& 

script  ire,   TbpogrupJiicai,  D^c^rutiif.   Th>-i>- 

rt.ti'''d,   oiid    Mi  c/niii ('<'o/,    alphabetically 

arranged,    familiarly   explained,   and 

adapted   to  t/ie   Cf/mpnatnrion    of 

u'»rl::n<  a. 

*    BY    ROBERT   STUART, 

ARCHITECT    AM)    CIVIL   ENGINEER. 

IlliiKt r:t1i  il  by  one  thousand   ltr:Mvliiir»  of 
(subject*  referred  to  In  t!ie  work. 

Complete  in  3  volumes  Svo.,  bound  in  two. 
"  A  most  excellent  work  for  practical  men." 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


MAR  3 


Due  end  of  SPRING 


EEC'DLD   APR1  C 


72  -8  AM  2  9 


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D  21A-50m-3,'62 
iO)476B 


U  C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


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